Tusks in the Closet
by Kazakh Doom
Summary: Fitz has an awkward encounter with the president of Afroasia...which soon becomes deadly. Meanwhile, his mormyrine chiefs of staff plot to take the Grey House from him... Sequel to "Thomas Grant: Vampire Hunter"
1. Chapter 1

This is the North American Union. Here, the president is elected every decade.

In the capital, Lincoln City, before a vast crowd, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III takes the oath of office. Like a goat with the longest horns, he doesn't miss a word, as he repeats the ones the judge recites.

It's a great day for the rightists. And yet, most of them seem surprised...like Grant should've lost...

Like a speck in the crowd, the one that got him elected, Liv Pope, a lawyer, tries to look small. She is small...physically. But in every other way, she's an unforgettable parasite. The NAU's new president would know.

Among the victorious crowd, a steer elephant beholds the monotony. In reality, he doesn't realize what's going on. He doesn't even know he's a symbol of hope for the victorious crowd. He knows even less, but almost as less as the rest of the crowd, that the republic has more confidence in him, the flexi-nosed, big-eared, big-footed, tusked gigantic symbol, than in the man who's just become the republic's new leader.

Behind Grant, and just as insecurely, Mellie Grant stands, and physically supports her husband. In every other way, though, she either does too much or not enough for him. It isn't always her fault; she married the wrong man. And yet, sometimes it is; a lot of women like her, after all, would do anything to become the first lady of this NA of U.

And she does mean ANYTHING...

In a fish tank in the Grey House, two elephantfish swim in spirals around each other. One is the new chief of staff. They're both male. They're happily...if not proudly...gay partners.

If Cyrus, the chief of staff, had pride, he'd be the president. Odds are, too, that he wouldn't be Novak's, this lucky male elephantfish's, mate. But of course, Cyrus doesn't have to tell him what he doesn't have to know. He isn't even sure Novak can understand telepathy...

In the wild, elephantfish are pack hunters in Lake Tanganyika. But here, Cyrus and Novak will just have to settle for a lovely pair.

Outside, President Grant finishes taking the oath of office. All around, there is much rejoicing.

In the crowd, Liv still hides. She loves the president more than any woman he knows; white, black, whore, or mail-order bride. Alas, would he still want her if he knew everything about her?

He already knows her bra size. And yet, if only it were that easy for him to settle with the perfect woman...


	2. Chapter 2

In the Grey House, Fitz and Mellie share the same bed. In their sleep, she reaches for him more often than he does for her.

"Liv," he whispers in his sleep. "Liv..."

Mellie doesn't hear. She wears earplugs when she's in bed.

Fitz can't sleep. He rises, and leaves Mellie be.

He wanders down the hall, in his briefs. His briefs are Captain Marvel-patterned. (Rambeau; not Batson.) Liv has seen him in these; she's warned him that if the public finds out he wears Monica Rambeau-themed undies, she will NEVER fix that for him.

Fitz can't imagine why. Monica might not have been the first black superheroine, but as of now, she's the only one Fitz can think of besides Vixen. And Rocket. And Amanda Waller...

He passes Cyrus's tank. Cyrus and Novak are both in there. They're wearing virtual reality-inducing headgear. While so, they're trapped in separate underwater cages, so they can swim in place.

In the virtual reality, they're both hunting cichlids along the bottom of Lake Tanganyika. They're part of a vast pack of elephantfish. They generate electricity. Some of them do a Black Lightning, and electrocute their asses...

Fitz grins. Cyrus may be gay, but at least he has more than too much appreciation for the rightist pastime of group hunting.

Via Fitz's voice command, the lamp at his desk lights up. He sits. The desk presents him with the oldest bill in the "incoming" folder. A veteran, he speed-reads it.

On either side of the president's desk, there are two gauntlets. One's silver. The other's gold. The gold one is right-handed, and signs the bills. The silver one is left-handed, and stamps them with a rubber stamp that says VETO. For the next few hours, Fitz makes an imbalanced use of both of these.

For as long as it lasts, the majority of the seats in the republic's legislature is rightist. That's expected; Fitz won the Grey House, after all. Alas, the good times won't last. Soon and very soon, the jackasses WILL reclaim the legislature, and when that happens, Fitz had better PRAY the press never find out about him and Liv...

YOU SHOULDN'T BE WORKING AT THIS HOUR, MR. PRESIDENT.

Fitz sighs. "I'm in my briefs, Cyrus. You can call me Fitz. Don't you have imaginary cichlids to molest?"

THEY'RE WHAT I EAT. I CANNOT BANDAGE THAT.

Cyrus speaks telepathically. In his cage and still with his virtual reality mask on, Novak doesn't seem to listen.

"Fine. Just as long as my house guests are never here to witness one of your live feedings."

AND TO THINK YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF THE ONE WHERE TEDDY ROOSEVELT WAS RECEIVING A VISITOR, AND HIS SON BURST IN AND LAID A CREEPY LITTLE SNAKE ON HIS BUSY FATHER'S DESK. NOT THAT TEDDY WAS NEVER BUSY BEFORE THE PRESIDENCY.

"Of course I know, Cyrus. Teddy was a rightist, as we are." Fitz stares at the fish tank. "You...ARE a rightist, are you?"

MY SEXUALITY IS MERELY A SOCIAL INCONVENIENCE. BUT I AM JUST AS COMMITTED TO TESTOSTERONE, MISOGYNY, AND PEDOPHILIA AS YOU AND YOUR RIGHTIGHST BROTHERS WOULD BE, IF ONLY YOUR MOTHER HAD BEEN MORE FERTILE IN LIFE.

"She was fertile. She just didn't want to pay more for food than she could afford. Plus, it hurts women to have babies." Fitz chuckles. "And to think that Mellie still hasn't had enough of my babies. She's a real suicide warrior, that one."

YOU MUSTN'T LEAVE THE FIRST LADY ALONE FOR TOO LONG. SHE'LL SUSPECT YOU'RE HAVING AN AFFAIR.

"Let her. I stopped loving her when she stopped hating pride and greed demons."

YOU MIGHT NOT GET REELECTED IF SHE TELLS THE PRESS. YOUR SUCCESSOR MIGHT BE A LEFTIST. I ABHOR THE THOUGHT OF HAVING MY TANK EMPTIED, AND I'M SURE NOVAK DOES TOO. WE ARE NOT KILLIFISHES.

"Let me worry about that. You're my chief of staff, not my adviser."

EVEN SO, YOU'VE GOT A MEETING WITH THE AFROASIAN PRESIDENT TOMORROW MORNING. FROM WHAT I'VE EAVESDROPPED ON, SHE KEEPS TIME LIKE THE CLOCK KING IN D.C. COMICS.

"I'm aware. Now if you don't mind, these bills won't sign and veto themselves."

OF COURSE. I UNDERSTAND. I WISH I WERE SIGNING THEM...AS MUCH AS I WISH I HAD HANDS INSTEAD OF FINS. SURE WOULD MISS MY TRUNK, THOUGH.

With that, Cyrus falls silent. He returns to his VR, and resumes the hunt at the bottom of Lake Tanganyika.

Fitz chuckles. "Fish with trunks," he mutters. "Whatever benevolent god would come up with that idea? Black Lightning never had a trunk, and neither did Electro." Fitz pauses. "Although, Electro DID get his powers by falling into a fish tank full of electric eels..."

There's a small airport just outside of town. As dawn rises in the eastern sky, a visiting private airplane from Afroasia comes from the same direction. On air traffic control's orders, it nears, descends, lands, and skids to a stop. Its roundel is a crescent moon and a Star of David.

In Afroasia, the president is little more than a role model. It's their prime minister who hurls all the lightning-or in Afroasia's case, blows all the sandstorms.

The president's limo straggles. When the plane's crew sees it, it lowers the plane's ramp.

Fitz climbs out of the limo, in a nice suit, and waits. He can't say he longs to make the Afroasian president's acquaintance, but he sure hopes he can trust Afroasia to remain an ally of his own republic.

Accompanied by her bodyguard, a brunette amazon appears in the plane's gangway. She bears the face of Gal Gadot, or an actress with a similar reputation.

Her dress is like Wonder Woman's; only she wears Afroasian colors, rather than the relatively familiar ones. She wears a laurel wreath, made of silver, around her brown hair. A sapphire pendant sits in its center. Fitz is surprised she wears sandals; dressed like that, he half-expected her to come barefoot.

The two presidents meet in the middle. Her bodyguard lets her be.

"Hi," Fitz stammers. "I take it you're not one of the president's bodyguards."

She narrows her eyes. "I AM," she says, in an Israeli accent, "the president!"

"Of course," Fitz laments sexually. "That's what I was afraid of."

She extends her hand, at the end of a VERY bare arm-and two bare shoulders, if Fitz might add. "I am Silka Ophir," she says, "president of our glamorous Afroasia."

Fitz swallows hard, sexually, and shakes the virtual amazon queen's hand. "Welcome to the North American Union, President Ophir." He looks around. "Shall we ferry to Camp Ibrahim?"

"On the contrary, I've always wanted to see your capital city. Can we?"

Fitz hesitates. "Of course. My staff will gladly accommodate for you. We'll...have to search you for weapons first, if you're coming into the capital."

"Of course," she acknowledges. "Terrorists are bitches. In my country, they are like packs of curs. They seem to think my subjects are rotting flesh."

Both willingly and reluctantly, Fitz's secret servants search the Afroasian president. They find many shurikens. They find many pistols. They find an antitank rifle (hashtag WTF). They find handheld crossbows. They find bolas. They find a blowgun. They find swords. They find grenades. They find knives...

The president of Afroasia may underdress. But damn, if her country's arsenal isn't getting more and more concealable all the time; either that, or their military uniforms are getting more and more revealable...

And to that, Fitz is WAY too sure the first lady would agree...

"As I said," Ophir repeats, acknowledging all the strange looks, "terrorists breed like locusts in my motherland."

"I deduce as much. Are we nearly done, here?"

The secret servants nod, and leave Ophir be. A chauffer takes her by the arm, and leads her to the seat in the back of the limo.

She and Fitz sit together in the back of his limo-TOO close together. Fitz has never been more thankful that the press never rides in this limo with him.

Ophir's bare legs are thick and juicy. They make Fitz feel warm all over, just ogling them...

"These seats are like utopia," Ophir admits. "We in Afroasia only have leather, which becomes a skillet for bare skin in the heat of day."

"Well, your ass is thick. Does that never help?"

Upon this, some of the staff snicker.

She flaps her hair. "Thank you for noticing...but no. The female ass is very sensitive. And they are like scorpions: the bigger, the weaker." She studies him. "You've seen _Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_, have you not?"

Fitz blinks. "With a bit of suddenly realized pride in having done so, yes."

"I'm not proud. The first _Indiana Jones_ trilogy was perfect; old man Harrison Ford, Shia LaBeouf, and Soviet Cate Blanchett all screwed it up." She looks around. "Not a proud way for John Hurt to end his acting career, either."

"I know. He usually died when he was in a movie."

Ophir stares at him. "Where were you at my bat mitzvah?! I spent the whole night, after it ended, wanting to fuck a boy." She points at him. "You should've been there!"

Fitz doesn't hear a peep out of the staff.

Fitz can feel his heart racing. "Trust me," he near whispers, "I wish I was."

Yep; Mellie's going to hate him for this. Liv will too.


	3. Chapter 3

At a brewery in Lynchburg, Liv's next client awaits aid. His problem is big...as is the amount he'll lose without Ms. Pope's help.

Meet Orang Zahed. He may blend in here, but he's no local. On the contrary, he's in hiding. He's in dire need of a lawyer who's very fast at work, and very knowing of what certain people want.

Zahed is political. He believes that Muslims are meant to live WITH infidels, rather than away from them. And hence, that's what he preaches. Once, social media seemed to have a VERY favorable opinion of him.

And now, multiple women are claiming to be Zahed's spouses. They haven't gone public with it; Zahed's just being blackmailed at this point.

The brewery's radio plays Eden's Edge's "Amen." Zahed liked that band; it was such a shame they couldn't produce a top ten single before they broke up.

At long last, Liv arrives. She's panting. From Washington to Lynchburg is no short distance...but of course, it beats from Washington to Nome. Zahed tries to tell her that; she doesn't react.

They sit at a table in the corner. He outlines his situation. Liv listens. She doesn't seem very taken aback; but then, she never does.

"I think I know who to talk to about this," she tells him. "You just go back to your ordinary life, and be yourself."

"Thank you, Ms. Pope. I know not how to repay you."

"We'll talk about that later. Just...don't tell any polygamy jokes to people you don't know."

"You need help getting back to Washington?"

"Like I said: we'll talk about that later."

With that, Olivia takes her leave, to go talk to the people she knows of. She doesn't know it, but Zahed will soon become the one client she'll be forever thankful for having...as well as the one client she'll wish she never approached.


	4. Chapter 4

The presidents of two countries are in a pub just south of Lincoln City. By now, the press has seen all the superficial parts of this foreign affair...and Fitz is sure that that's more than the First Lady will tolerate.

They sit at a bar table, laughing. There's a crowd around them. Ophir is humiliating Fitz in a drinking contest. She may be a Semite, but she's no Muslim.

And, they sing a karaoke duet. Naturally, the press is everywhere. The duet's being recorded. With luck, this won't appear on CNN...

Their singing isn't perfect...but then, no one ever expects it to be. They salute Zane Williams's "99 Bottles"-best they can, considering how drunk they are-and sing:

Meanwhile, the First Lady is back in Lincoln City, shopping. She's interested in having a baby with Fitz. There's much she must do. She often finds herself having to do it without him...

Everywhere, TVs are on. They broadcast the fools her husband and the Afroasian president make of themselves at a bar in Virginia. Like an obsessed bimbo, Mellie doesn't see them. She doesn't even acknowledge the thrill-seeking crowds that assemble before some of them.

Plus, she doesn't know her own husband's singing voice. Figures...

Having fun, Fitz and Ophir sing another duet. They do their best to salute Roger Creager's "Swingin' from the Chandelier," despite their more-than-drunkenness.

Fitz and Ophir are both so drunk, they don't notice that the walls of the bar are made of anything but adobe... But on the upside, both her phone and his phone stay silent, for this song.

For the last note, Fitz improvises a great tenor forte, which both knocks a lot of socks off and disgusts many. Some of the female patrons are terrified; and at this, Mellie and Liv will NEVER have been gladder to miss out on one of Fitz's lower moments.

Fitz strains his vocal cords. Ophir bats her eyes, and offers him a glass of water. With bloodshot eyes, he coughs a "thank you," and drinks it. All around, everyone's applauding.

"Show me your place," Ophir hiccups/whispers. "I'm sure it's grand."

Fitz hiccups. "You've no idea...Madame President."

His eyes are crossed. He's staring down her blouse...


	5. Chapter 5

We're back at the Grey House. It hasn't changed much since last Mellie left it.

Lucky for Fitz, she's still not home. Fitz subtly hopes her limo wrecks while he's showing the hot-bodied Afroasian president around the Grey House.

In the Grey House, they introduce a new elephantfish into the tank. Like Cyrus, the fish is male. Also like Cyrus, the fish is gay. They're calling him Ambruso.

Fitz and Ophir get home, drunk and arm-in-arm. They attract a LOT of attention. With that said, it's a good thing Fitz doesn't share the Grey House with leftist relatives. He's pretty sure he wouldn't have gotten elected if the public thought he had any to speak of.

Ambruso's used to the temperature of the tank. The staff release him. He swims around the tank. Cyrus and Novak rub noses with him.

Ophir notices the tank. She gawks, stares into it, and uses it to codepend how drunk she is, by staring into the tank water's fluidity.

WE'LL BE LUCKY IF SHE DOESN'T TAP ON THE GLASS, Novak mutters.

"These are SO interesting," Ophir gawks. "What are they?"

Fitz moves the furniture in the Oval Office. "They're Beene's elephantfishes. They're all male...and gay. They're also telepathic; so don't get scared if you hear voices."

"Oh, I'll try not to. I'd be the shame of my country's military if I was afraid of anything!"

THAT'S FUNNY, Ambruso thinks, BECAUSE RIGHT NOW YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'D PEE IN YOUR LEOTARD IF AN ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS MEETING THREATENED TO DOOM YOU TO LIFE IN THERAPY.

Ophir screams. Fitz drops what she's doing, and attends to her.

AH, STRAIGHT MEN, Ambruso complains. WHAT DO THEY SEE IN THESE WOMEN?

I DON'T KNOW, Cyrus thinks. BUT I'VE SEEN ONE DO CRAZY THINGS BECAUSE OF IT.

"As you can see," Fitz tells her, "Cyrus is my chief of staff, and these are his lovers. And it seems that," he studies Ambruso, "these elephantfishes are not as monogamous as I once thought."

HUMANS ARE MONOGAMOUS? HOW COME I CAN'T TELL?

I'VE SEEN CICHLIDS HAVE LESS IMPRESSIVE ORGIES, Ambruso recounts, THAN THE HUMAN CAPTORS WHO BROUGHT ME HERE FROM LAKE TANGANYIKA TALK ABOUT SEX...WITH THEIR FEMALES. AND I WAS ALMOST CONVINCED THAT HUMAN MALE ZOO WORKERS WERE GAY, LIKE US...

"Don't take anything they say personally," Fitz continues. "Cyrus is my chief of staff; he's supposed to be picky about who comes in here."

After Ophir's panic attack, she and Fitz are embraced...apparently as lovers. For is own sake, Fitz sure hopes there aren't any reporters eavesdropping outside the Grey House windows.

"We should sit," Ophir suggests, "and talk about our countries' affairs."

"We should," Fitz agrees, "but not over liquor...whatever we do."

Novak chuckles. LOOKS LIKE THOSE AREN'T THE ONLY AFFAIRS THEY'VE GOT TO DISCUSS.

They sit in the parlor. Their chairs are close...but not too close.

"So," Fitz opens, "what do your people think about us? I've been told that they're a lot more worried about their own survival."

"I do what I can to protect them," Ophir admits. "But you know, I'm no Yahweh."

"You're no Allah either. And I'm sure that gets the men who didn't vote for you."

"I still don't understand why." She flaps her hair, and adjusts the top of her leotard. "Most liberal men prefer me."

"Yeah," Fitz stares at her chest, "I can see why."

BETTER RE-CALIBRATE YOUR PUPILS BEFORE THE FIRST LADY GETS HOME, BUB.

WATCH YOUR MIND, Cyrus snaps. HE MAY BE BADLY BEHAVED, BUT HE'S ALSO MY BOSS.

Ophir shields her eyes. "The sunlight's really bright out there. Care to help an old woman out?"

"Of course." Fitz yells for his pages. He yells again. They don't come.

Fitz turns to the fish tank. "Are any of you, by chance, telekinetic, as well as telepathic?"

They all tread water, and stare at him.

Fitz sighs, and stands. "Fine. For one of THE rarest moments in Grey House history, I'll accommodate for the Afroasian president's retinas myself."

The President crosses the room, and approaches the windows. He gets to work closing their curtains.

WE AREN'T TELEKINETIC, Novak thinks softly, RIGHT?

WHAT HE DOESN'T KNOW, Cyrus reveals, WON'T HURT HIM. AND IT WON'T TEMPT HIS CRITICS TO EXPLOIT US FOR OUR ABILITIES.

INTERESTING, Ambruso thinks. DIDN'T KNOW HUMANS WERE SO AMBITIOUS ABOUT FLEXIBLE NOSES...OR ELECTRICITY GENERATION.

YOU, Cyrus suggests, might NOT BE SO WRONG ABOUT THAT LAST ONE...

With that, Ambruso stops generating electricity between his fins, and subtly swims to the back of the tank...

Ophir sits, and checks her nails. They're reflective. She loves this nail polish they're selling at the airport in Marseilles. It's really...

She's sees something in one of her nails' reflections. It looks sinister.

She screams, and charges Fitz. Fitz freezes like a deer in the headlights. The elephantfish are tempted to slow things down with their minds, to make it just like a movie...but decide against it.

Ophir gets to Fitz, hugs him, and hits the floor with her bare arms around him. Meanwhile, an RPG flies through the window, breaks it, and gets about halfway across the parlor before exploding.

Ophir's on top of Fitz. Fitz's nose has somehow ended up stuck in her rack. On the upside, his most secret fantasy about the Afroasian president has come true. On the downside, if this visit wasn't going to be all over Fox News before...it is now.

GOOD THING THAT WASN'T ATOMIC, Novak admits. WE'D ALL BE FISH OUT OF WATER.

LIKE SOME OF THOSE KILLIFISHES BACK HOME, Ambruso recalls. EXCEPT AT LEAST THEY can SURVIVE OUT OF WATER.

Right on cue, Mellie gets home. She walks right into the parlor...and sees the mess.

Moments pass. She looks around. She sees Ophir...and what she's wearing. And she sees her husband, with his face pinned beneath her rack...and him not crawling out from beneath it right away.

"Hi, Mel," Fitz says, with a boobs-muffled voice. "How are threads stores in Lincoln City these days?"

Mellie doesn't move. She's still processing the excess of what she's come home to...and seeing her husband with another woman will only add to the amount of time she'll take to sober up.

"Your wife doesn't seem very talkative," Ophir admits. "Funny; she's like a nuclear filibuster whenever we see her on TV back in my country."

Mellie still stands still. She'd look like the Statue of Liberty...if only she held a torch high in her other hand.

WELL, Cyrus admits, THE PRESIDENT'S IN TROUBLE NOW. NOT SURE WHAT KIND...BUT THIS IS DEFINITELY POPE-WORTHY.

POPE? Ambruso seems confused.

YOU'LL SEE, Novak assures the new guy. IF YOU'RE LUCKY...OR ELSE, not SO LUCKY...


	6. Chapter 6

Liv has just about salvaged Orang's reputation...as she always does SO well, all while prevailing over obstacles that no insecure human could ever possibly. And now, it's just about time for him to repay her.

He takes her to a cabin, in alpine Virginia. They take a Cadillac.

She sits shotgun. He drives. He smiles, as she tells him about her problems with a man. (For the purpose of protecting both of them, she never tells anyone that the man is President Grant II.)

"I might know someone who can help you," he tells her. "She's weird, but she keeps things simple...which I love."

"Have you...known her for long?"

"No. But I've a good hunch about her."

They enter her cabin. The door creaks as it's opened and shut.

The rooms are (over)-decorated with Persian rugs. Many lamps are lit.

Liv's impressed. Although she isn't sure she should keep going with this for long...

"You said she'd help me," Liv reminds Mr. Zahed. "How?"

"I am not sure either. I only know she inspires me."

"Yeah," Liv admits, gaping in half-amazement and half-disgust. "I can see that."

From a pitcher with a narrow spout, Roma, their hostess, pours them cups of coffee. Liv takes hers...but barely suckles it. This place looks like it's served doped brownies at least once. Liv knows not to be judgmental...then again, she's in love with a man who was most likely raised to be...if he isn't.

Fitz sure wasn't judgmental when he fell for a black woman, Liv knows. She knows the rightists were supposed to end slavery, but...would they still do so today?

"Interesting," Liv mutters. "I half-expected there to be a moonshine still in here."

Zahed chuckles. "If we distilled moonshine, we'd not only make our problems worse, but we'd look weird. No, Ms. Pope, I assure you the only whiskey we ever drink is at Ramadan...and that's hardly an enviable amount. Although I must confess that there are some years I wish it was moonshine."

"Just to be clear," Liv assures him, "if what this is doesn't work, and if Fitz doesn't become more passionate in his love, I won't offer you my services. I'll make sure you get arrested for fraud."

Zahed grins. "Understood."

Liv sits nude in a tent, and has oils dumped on her. Outside, Roma chants. Steam rises from everywhere. Liv smears the oil all over herself.

"What was once two," Roma chants, "will become one.

"What was once apathy will become passion.

"What was once chance will become guarantee.

"What was once monotonous will become steamy.

"The spice of life, I beseech thee,

"Allow Fitzgerald Grant to infinitely desire she!"

Behind Liv, a portal opens. It swallows her whole, and vanishes.

Roma rubs her hands together. All around, her equipment levitates itself back into place. The messes clean themselves. She adjusts her hair, and faces Mr. Zahed; she seems shocked by how close behind her he stands.

"So, Mr. Zahed," she asks, "tell me, of all these rumors about the women you've married," she leans forward, "how many are true?"

"None are," Zahed admits. "I'm a bachelor, and always have been."

She gawks. "Oh! Well, that's..." She adjusts her top too. "That's just fascinating! Tell me...how would you feel about a free card-reading?"

"I don't know. How would either of us feel if the cards told us we weren't going to make it?"

"Ah, well... I'm sure we'll think of something."

"I'd love to. Alas, I have to leave. Will...what you just did take care of Ms. Pope?"

"Well, I certainly don't know. That all depends on the reliability of this 'Fitzgerald Grant' she has high hopes for."

Zahed stares at her. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but...do you know who the President is?"

She chuckles. "Why on Earth would I take it the wrong way?"


	7. Chapter 7

Mellie sits very still, on a couch. She's in a catatonic state.

Fitz watches. He's tempted to feel bad about this...but oddly, he doesn't know if he should. He was just being a human when he came home...and the Afroasian President was being TOO human...and not to mention too feminine. And to think that everyone back in Fitz's home state considers her too manly for the philogynist label...

The nurse hesitates, before approaching Fitz. She may have a job to do, but even she's human enough to realize that being in the presence of the President is a big deal.

Fitz doesn't look up. "You can tell me what's wrong with her, ma'am," he calls her. "I didn't join the military because I can't handle bad news."

Embarrassed, she scurries towards him. Her collar is unbuttoned. "There is none, actually," she hiccups, "Mr. President. Your wife is...uh, the First Lady, is just in a catatonic state, and we just have to wait until she resumes responding to her usual," she hiccups, "stimuli."

"And, what are the odds that this catatonic state isn't some sort of cocoon, that'll transform my wife into someone other than who I remember?"

She hesitates. "Ah well, I don't have much experience with this kind of thing, but based on my education, and my humanity as well, with your permission..."

"We're all humans, Nurse. You should never have to apologize for that." He looks at her. "I know I'm a rightist, but I'm not crazy...unlike my Chief of Staff, or a plethora of the men who elected me."

"Oh," she straightens her hair, and stares into his eyes. "Really?!"

Fitz glances down. "The diagnosis," he mutters, "if you don't mind?"

"Oh! Right. As for the supernatural transformation thing, your wife's got about a fifty/fifty chance. I don't know what the First Lady's biography is, no offense..."

"None taken. I'm actually starting to wonder if I even know what her biography is."

"Oh," she straightens her hair, and stares into his eyes. "Really?!"

Fitz sighs. "So you're saying that my wife is okay?"

"Of course," she clears her throat. "Sorry. I'll leave you alone with her." She nearly trips as she returns to her work.

Fitz sighs. "The imbalances of humanity," he mutters. "When will the hills ever be flattened? By someone other than Bo and Luke Duke in the _General Lee_, I mean."

In her catatonic state, Mellie continues to stare into space. Fitz can't believe no one's bothered to undress her, or better accommodate for her. She's the First Lady, after all. Fitz would sue the hospital...if he thought he actually loved Mellie, and if he wasn't in special protection.

Fitz won't be able to stay in the Grey House for a while, no thanks to that RPG that would've assassinated him if not for...if not for the Afroasian President. He won't be able to interact with the press, either. On the upside, he won't have to spend his time in protective custody with Mellie, unless she sobers up from her catatonic state before then. On the downside-which, to Fitz, doesn't really FEEL as down as it is-he will have to spend it with Ms. Ophir.

Guards stand at most of the windows in the hospital. As much as most of them probably hate the President, they get paid good money to make sure his heart keeps beating; and in one of those bags that keeps a heart donation alive while in transit doesn't count.

At last, Fitz leaves his wife alone. His attending to her, after all, is always more of a performance for those questionable rightists, who got him elected, who ever wonder if it's okay for a man to leave his wife. He gets nothing from it. He's seriously starting to wonder if he ever did.

He stops by a fish tank. An electric eel swims inside it. For the time being, he's helping the President with his security. Most cops and warriors don't have the self-esteem to communicate with the President directly (big surprise).

"My wife is fine," he tells the knifefish. "How am I doing?"

YOU ARE IN NO NOTICEABLE DANGER, MR. PRESIDENT, the knifefish says telepathically. BUT FOR SECURITY, PROTOCOL DICTATES THAT YOU MUST RETURN TO THE FORT IN A CONVOY.

"I understand. Will I be able to come back here and check on Mellie?"

WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT? YOU DON'T LOVE HER.

Fitz stares at him.

SORRY, MR. PRESIDENT. I'M A TELEPATH; I CANNOT HELP BUT OVERHEAR YOUR MARITAL DOUBT.

"I forgive you. Just...don't tell anyone."

OF COURSE NOT. I AM NOT QUALIFIED TO TELL.

"It's just that... I don't want her to stay here if she's going to get better, and I need to make sure she gets back to the Grey House after this is all over."

SHE'S THE FIRST LADY. DO YOU REALLY EXPECT HER TO GET LOST WHERE THERE ARE PEOPLE AROUND?

"No. I just don't expect her to protect herself from terrorists, or rapists, if any of the above come hunting for her; not that I'd empathize with them, if it was sex they wanted." He looks around. "Can't imagine why it would be. She looks like Betsy Ross with CTS."

SHE WILL BE TAKEN BACK TO KENTUCKY AVENUE WHEN IT IS TIME. FOR NOW, YOU ARE THE HEART OF YOUR COUNTRY; AND DEPENDING ON THE SIZE OF THE THREAT TO YOU THAT R.P.G. REPRESENTS, IT WILL TAKE MORE THAN A SIMPLE RIBCAGE TO PROTECT YOU.

A convoy takes the President back to the fort, where he and Ophir will stay. They spread themselves out, to make it a little less obvious to passing locals that there's an ultra-sensitive person somewhere aboard.

From where he sits, the President looks out a small porthole, into the wilderness of where he's being hidden. Someone out there wants him dead...and he sure as hell hopes it won't come down to hiring Olivia Pope to find out who and why.


	8. Chapter 8

This is the fort. It'll be Fitz's and Ms. Ophir's home until law enforcement finds and catches who's trying to hurt Fitz.

The fort's location is classified...for the Presidents' protection, of course. But Fitz imagines it's somewhere in Northeast North America.

The fort has an archery range-MUCH to Ophir's liking. Still clad in her amazon dress, she fires arrows across the range. She dips a few in oil, and shoots them as they're flaming. She's allowed to shoot a few jars of incendiary liquid...until her protectors tell her not to, because the noise might draw in some hostile ears.

Ms. Ophir's got a fire going. It demands a lot of wood, and releases a lot of smoke. It's plenty humid around here. She's hardly worried about a burn ban...or there being a city nearby, since she and President Grant II are in protective custody.

Some of her protectors bring her some kosher turkey. She takes their word for it that it's kosher, and flame-broils it, like it was damned.

She stews some of it. She ladles some stew into a bowl, and takes the bowl to a concealed location.

Once there, she pulls a vial of Israeli salt out of her rack. She kisses the vial, and empties it into the stew.

The fort entry opens. Fitz is allowed inside. It seals itself shut behind him. Fitz would say "home sweet home," if he wasn't worried about having to spend his time in protective custody cheating on two women at the same time.

Ophir hears him. She stands bolt upright, and turns with her ass to the bowl of stew she's just doctored. It appears she's trying to conceal its existence from him. She straightens her hair, and adjusts the top of her amazon's dress.

Fitz looks around, and sniffs the air. There's still a lot of smoke from her fire. And he can smell the incendiary jars in the archery range. She also hasn't picked up all of her arrows from before.

"Wow," Fitz remarks. "I'm shocked your country didn't find you too primitive to be president."

She chuckles. "The presidency of my country has a literacy requirement, Mr. Grant; not a refinement one." She rubs her own bare arms. "And naturally, all Jews who become president must be able to read the Torah."

"I'd consider them vain if they couldn't. Although that's not to say I'd idolize them if they could."

"You're a President, Mr. Grant. You shouldn't have to idolize anybody."

He nods at the turkey she's cooked. "Is some of that for me?"

She nods. "It's kosher; just so you know. I know you're probably a gentile."

"As gentile as they come; although I am a conservative. That...probably means something different in your country."

"There are at least two different varieties. I won't say what they are, except that their respective religions are Islam and Judaism." She serves Fitz a bowl of her stew. "There's a Catholic one in Malta; but who's counting minorities, anyway?"

Fitz takes the bowl. Ophir stares into his eyes as she serves it to him.

"Interesting," Fitz says, trying the stew. "I could've sworn there was an Orthodox Christian one in Amhara as well."

"There is. But compared to the Muslim conservatives, they're alright. They're probably more like your family...if yours were Semitic."

Fitz chuckles. "Oh, no one in my family's Semitic. You can sure count on that. I don't support the Nazi cause any more than any other man who gets to the Grey House, but I've got some relatives and neighbors back at home who like to drift that way."

Ophir bites her lip, and steals glances at the stray bowl of stew in the shadows she's prepared and salted. "I understand that," she stammers, "I suppose."

"My wife's fine. She's just in a catatonic state."

"Oh, right. Sorry about that. Yeah, some women just don't know how to accept reality for what it is, I suppose."

Fitz chuckles. "Like how your precious Yahweh loves reality so much, that he wrote the Torah just so that he couldn't possibly defy it with the most inhumane of his laws?"

"Hey!" Ophir raises her finger. "I was born into the religion. And I only follow the laws that make me a better person; as you would if you read the Bible."

"Well," he keeps eating her stew, "I must confess that most of the people who voted for me probably wouldn't have done so if they thought I'd never read the Bible in my life. But if you ask me, most of it isn't so hard to figure out on one's own. I STILL don't know why children are taught it. Children can't commit to anything...let alone being good all year, so that Santa Claus won't put them on his naughty list."

Fitz would never tell Ophir this, but he LOVES turkey... Kosher or otherwise...

Ophir grins. "Oh yeah; that's an easy part of white people's culture to forget. Yeah, a lot of Jews go to extremes to prove themselves omnibenevolent," she wipes a spot on Fitz's mouth. "But I think that humans should just accept that there's no version of their biography where they never do anything wrong, and just look for a way to use their inner evil for good."

Fitz studies her. "That's an interesting theory." He takes up the bowl of stew she's been trying to conceal. "Would you like to tell me more."

Ophir struggles to grab the bowl, and take it from his hands. "Uh, yeah, I'll...tell you all about it. But first, you look like you could use a break. Why don't you go to your barracks, and dress more comfortably?"

Fitz seems confused...but he goes along with it. "Thank you. I'll be back." He retires to his barracks.

In his absence, Ophir deviously sticks a spoon into the bowl of stew. She leaves the same spice jar hanging from the spoon's end.

The sun sets lower. At Ms. Ophir's command, the fire burns brighter.

They sit outside. He's got a guitar. She's got a sintir; a Tuareg lute. Her country includes Tuareg territory.

They're about to have a picking contest. With luck, this won't turn into the Jew vs. gentile version of "the Devil Went Down to Georgia."

It might be that version of "Dueling Banjos," though... Anyway, you're probably wondering what happens next.

Fitz goes first. He plucks the strings, and thinks to himself while doing so. It's his first impulse to use his left hand to pluck the tune of "Lefty." But instead, he thinks certain musical thoughts to himself as he plucks:

_I am a Grant; a son of many mighty Grants_

_Ulysses is not in my patriline that I'm aware of_

_But still, they insist on calling me President Grant II_

_To keep our great grandchildren from confusing me with the bearded Civil War hero_

_Many men in my patriline have risen_

_All have fallen; some more violently than others_

_We've always stood tall for the heffalump,_

_Including those of us who did so before we could've known_

_How the heffalump would be incorporated into our glorious lore_

_We haven't all been leaders, but I have_

_My father was a pathetic excuse for one, and yet_

_Somehow he didn't mangle me beyond recognition_

_Before I could run for the Grey House on the rightists' ticket_

_I probably looked mangled beyond recognition when I was born_

_And yet, somehow, my mother didn't mistake me for twins..._

_In college, I majored in beer and girls_

_Just as my predecessors always had_

_I would've looked like a weirdo for pretending I didn't care for hooters_

_I never once regarded the Seventh Commandment_

_Although it's still pathetic to me that many of my Christian kin can't even remember which one that is,_

_Or let alone look up the word "commandment" in the dictionary_

_Red necks, white socks, and blue ribbon beer_

_Are the pride of my patriline...if not my family_

_They'd probably hate me that I'm hopelessly in love with a black girl_

_I have no idea why black people vote for rightists these days_

_Now that the end of the slavery issue is as old as Appomattox_

_I have sex fantasies of Liv being my slave,_

_And in revealing white lingerie, if she was capable of such humility_

_But I can't do a damn thing about that, even if she approved_

_Because then my voters would know I don't love my wife anymore..._

"Mr. Grant?"

Fitz stops plucking. He studies her.

"You said something, earlier, about some folk song that you consider a theme for yourself. I believe you called it 'Lefty?"

Fitz chuckles. "Of course. I can't sing, so bear with me."

"I can't either. But even so, I'd like to hear you try to sing it."

Fitz nods, and starts strumming the intro. As much as he would appreciate some steel guitar accompaniment from the Travis Linville cover of the song...his protective custody doesn't have that kind of budget...for some reason... He plays the Chuck Brodsky rendition instead.

Ophir watches him, with an amused face. Fitz wishes she wouldn't...although he's not entirely ungrateful that she is.

He once swore he'd play this song for Liv, after it became okay for him and her to be seen in public...as lovers. But you know, Fitz just can't afford a bad relationship with Afroasia. Many of Ophir's Muslim conservative subjects hate the Union. They probably always will...but if there's hope, Fitz MUST mine for it; for his country, if not for his...love life.


	9. Chapter 9

Once upon a commission, Fitz was a naval aviator. He could fly, and he could judge his targets by blowing them to hell.

He was MUCH younger. And he looked MUCH better. The ladies loved him. But he never had time to flirt; the enemy wasn't going to destroy itself, after all.

He went through a lot of training. Most of it was physical. For four years before that, there were a lot of classrooms, and he didn't have a commission for any of it. They enhanced him, and made him cocky in life, if not in the sky.

And then, the hard part came. They strapped him to a chair, and inoculated him with a super-aviator serum...

There were nightmares. Several times, Fitz lost control. More than once, he woke up sleeping on the ceiling. He started wearing a ball and chain to bed.

Now, they think he's ready for flight. In an empty hangar, they stand by, as Fitz uses his powers for the first time.

Fitz tries. He doesn't do anything. He tries again. He's lucky he doesn't fall through a hole in the hangar ceiling.

And he falls back down. He's lucky his skeleton doesn't shatter.

A VERY long time later, Fitz can control gravity. When he's ready, the high command sends him on a mission to Persia.

Ah, Persia. The mountains. The deserts. The vast open land. If only Fitz could dwell... But he mustn't; he's here to make the enemy weaker, not to sight-see.

They've got him wearing a nice costume. It's weather-proof, and bears his people's roundel.

At long last, he meets an opponent. Unlike him, he's wearing the Persian roundel on his costume. Also unlike him, he's relying on a Shiite cloak to levitate. Figures; Persian patriots like their Shia Islam like Goths like their black.

They both stop, and levitate in place. They drift in circles, around each other. It's a balance contest. Both can go for the rest of their lives...if that's their destiny.

When Fitz is ready, he'll make his move. His will, after all, is destined to become his homeland's commander-in-chief...

The Persian foe dips into his other talents, and hypnotizes Fitz. Fitz can't control it; he starts seeing what his opponent shows him.

He's in Jahannam. Below, the mountains are as hot as coals. The valleys burn, and are filled with fire. The sky is red. Black demons fly here and there, like mosquitoes, vultures, vampire bats, and angels with black wings. Some get too close to Fitz, and slash at him with their flaming blades...

A shadowy figure approaches him. Fitz reaches for his flail, thinking it might be Iblis...

It's Mellie. She wears a long green robe, and her hair up in a crown braid. She wears a lot of mascara. Her gauntlets are made of silver-steel scale armor. She wears a glowing pendant around her neck. She unfolds her arms, and erects a bo staff.

"Infidel," she hisses, in a SO-not-Mellie-like voice. "You trespass...again."

"I am not here for your people's faith," Fitz insists. "I am here for their weapons."

"Bullshit," she hisses. "Our faith IS a weapon! And with it, we will defend ourselves until the end times! When will you exterior filth ever learn?"

"It is not for me to learn. It's for my nation."

"A nation of bastards who interbreed with other bastards, I see. Here in Persia, we keep our dicks inside our pants!"

Fitz shrugs. "Well, then...how do you reproduce?"

"Allah sees all. And you will not trespass unchallenged."

"As I said, I am here for your weapons. Hand them over, and I will not attack."

"Your attack will not hinder me, infidel. You have no ace!"

Fitz takes up his mace, and swings it. "No; but I'm the first line of offense. And I will gladly die in the service of protecting my people. I just wish that your subjects could remember that there's a little Grant inside all of them."

"No Grant is Muslim. And I will make an example out of you...by reminding them of that." Her staff turns to metal, and grows spikes at either end. "Welcome to Jahannam, Ensign!"

Fitz takes his mace, and swings it around. Its chain gets longer with each revolution. Soon, he'll be able to hit Dark Mellie with it. He's almost within range...

Outside the illusion, Fitz's opponent knocks him out, with a sucker punch from the Allahforce. With that, Fitz's powers fail him, and now, like Tom Petty, he's free, free-falling...

The desert looms up at him. It's getting too close. He may not survive the impact. Then again, he might...

Fitz wakes. He's still in the fort. He and Ms. Ophir are still in protective custody. Fitz keeps having that nightmare...and it gets creepier each time.

He gets out of bed, and urinates. He's starting to sense that kosher meat isn't up his alley. And to think he once thought he couldn't go wrong with turkey. Then again, turkeys probably have less meat on them in Afroasia...if they live out there at all...

Yeah, for them, it's probably mostly quail. Even so, Fitz will never stop being a turkey man...

He flushes the toilet. He starts to return to his bed.

His bedroom door creaks. Fitz reaches for his flail...until he remembers that he doesn't have it anymore...or his gravity-control powers, for that matter...

It's Ophir. He relaxes...and doesn't at the same time.

"Sorry," she yawns. "I couldn't sleep."

"Had a nightmare," Fitz recounts. "Trying to recover."

"You were in the military, weren't you?"

Fitz nods. "I was a naval aviator. I could control gravity. I used a ball-and-chain flail for dogfights."

"Sounds hot. Can I join you...for a few?"

Fitz nods. "Don't get any ideas."

She comes in. Fitz nearly goes blind from looking at her in her sky-blue babydoll.

They lie on opposite sides of the bed, and stare at one another. Fitz should be more worried about someone coming to kill him...but somehow, when he's with the Afroasian president, he feels more secure than when he's commanding the military.

"You were in your country's military," Fitz reminds her. "How so?"

She shrugs her big bare shoulders. "A little amphibious. A little expeditionary. A little ground. I was basically a fucking amazon. Deborah's got nothing on me."

Fitz narrows his eyes.

"Deborah was a judge of Israel, sometime after Moses and before Samuel. Thought you'd know that. Don't you North American conservatives read the Bible?"

"Yes. But we don't really memorize it, as you do the Torah."

"I haven't memorized the Torah. I _still_ don't recall how I dodged that scale...but I did."

"I envy you. I didn't dodge a lot of scales in youth I still think I could've."

"Don't dwell. If you don't learn to like yourself for who you are, you won't teach anyone else to do the same."

Fitz smiles. "Do they teach that in the Afroasian military?"

"They teach that everywhere. Only a few do it verbally."

"Of course." Fitz yawns. "How about your country's soccer team? Do you think they'll make it to the next World Cup?"

Ophir grins, and flaps her hair. "You don't watch the World Cup, do you?"

"How can I? We all prefer our NFL here."

"Do you?"

"My voters expect me to. But there are thirty-two teams in it, and it's hard to commit to one when I can't even commit to my wife."

"There's no dishonor in getting divorced while in the Grey House. Just because it's never happened before doesn't mean it'll never have to."

Fitz chuckles. "I have forty-three predecessors. Only one of them was a lifelong bachelor. Alas, he was a leftist."

"Again: just because it's never happened before doesn't mean it never has to. It was a different world for your predecessors; if they had to live in yours for five minutes, I'm sure they'd understand."

"You're probably right. But even so, I'd need Mellie's signature as well."

Ophir giggles. "Good luck with collecting that, then." With that, she yawns. And, she snores.

Fitz gapes, and raises his finger...but hesitates. He'd hate to wake her; it might not improve North American-Afroasian relations. He sighs, and rolls over on his back. The bed sure is hotter, with Ophir in it...

"I'm trusting you not to make me pregnant, Ms. President," he mutters. She still snores. "I'll probably regret it. God-forbid if your Muslim conservatives go to war with us because there's a half-Grant bastard gestating in your...presidential belly."

Ophir smiles, and snores. She doesn't heed what she's risking...and doesn't care. Sometimes, Fitz envies her. And yet, it's usually better if he doesn't...

In moments like these, Fitz thinks of Liv. Not that he ever stops...


	10. Chapter 10

Late at night, the humid hardwood forest outside the fort is quiet. Nothing moves. Nothing makes noise. All is scarily calm.

In a small clearing, a truck sits. Inside, the driver waits, and listens to the radio. He drinks some coffee, and smokes a cigar as he does. Out there, dawn is still far away.

In Iran, the radio reports, North American agents are approaching the man who, a long time ago, captured President Fitz Grant in Irani airspace back when he was a naval aviator on a sensitive mission. According to Central Intelligence, he's the leading suspect in the attack on the White House, from which the President was heroically saved by President Ophir of Afroasia, who is now in secret protective custody with the fellow national leader whose live she saved...

In the hospital, Mellie Grant sits still, as this report is overheard by her part of the hospital. She's still catatonic.

In the fort, all has slowed down. The guards march slower. Most are asleep. One of their shifts is about to end...

Near Fitz's bed, his house shoes are without their owner. They're soon to have an unexpected occupant.

Within the toe, a tiny portal opens. Liv falls through it...a thousandth her normal size, and clad in naught but revealing white lingerie.

She pants, and looks around. She gags, and nearly vomits at the remnants of Fitz's foot odor.

It makes sense, though, why she'd be a stranger to her favorite man's foot odor. She hasn't felt at-ease enough to pursue her affair with him ever since she first inadvertently distracted him while he was recruiting help to get him elected...

She doesn't recognize where she is. She has no idea for how long she was locked in that dimension, or if Fitz is even still the President, or if he's still married...

She thinks she sees a light up ahead. Gasping for air, she staggers towards it.

She's so small, she can stand while walking around in the bottom of Fitz's slipper. She's so small, the top of his shoe is very high up...like the ceiling of a cathedral...

A _woolly_ cathedral...

She steps into the light. To her dismay, it's not very bright. She looks up. She thinks she sees a white cliff nearby, through the giant hole in the ceiling...but again, it's hard to tell...

Liv peers around, and heads towards one of the walls of this hole. True to her intuition, the hole ends where the wall begins. Again, she has no idea where she is. She also has no idea how much deep shit she'll be in if nature calls Fitz at any time before she finds a way out of here...

Liv sighs...and chokes, because his shoe still stinks. She grabs the woolly surface of the wall, and climbs to the top.

She can see the top looming as she climbs. The wool, despite its longer length, feels _great_ against her midriff...and all of her exposed parts. Heck, it even feels good through her lingerie... Soon, but not soon enough for her hasty tiny self, she's at the top of the stinky pit she can't seem to find a quick way out of.

She crawls forward, to see how wide the wall is. She almost falls over it when she discovers how wide it isn't...even at her new petite height.

She screams when she falls over it. Luckily, she grabs it just in time. She dangles off the side of his shoe, looking down. She can't see the bottom...but she dreads it's too far.

She probes for something to hold onto on her way down. She doesn't find much; the outside of Fitz's slipper is leather. She thinks she's found something...but can't tell how reliable it is. A brave crusader, she takes her chances...

And, she falls. She screams and flails on her way down...

She lands halfway down, on something furry and long. And it's flexible. It makes parts of her lingerie, and skin, itch. It feels way too alive for her...

And it, moves. She screams when it takes off. Whatever she's on, it's fast. She'd like to have a word with the driver, about how to be courteous to passengers aboard passenger vehicles...

Her savior scurries into his quarters, and turns on the light. Around him, mirrors surround them.

And, Liv beholds her savior, as she does her situation. And for the most part, aside from a long gape, she takes it _very_ well...

Her boobs and ass inflate, and she screams at the top of her lungs. She's the size of a mite, and riding atop an elephant shrew's nose as if she was a tiny black one...

Okay, fine; she doesn't take it well at all. But you know, she's fucking Olivia Pope; she can adapt to anything...

In his bed, Fitz wakes. He looks around. President Ophir is still in his bed. And she's snoring.

Fitz can't remember why he woke. He was dreaming of Liv...for a change. At least he didn't have another one of getting shot down over Iran. Although he dreads that'll become relevant again...too soon for him.

Fitz sighs, and shakes his head, trying to go back to sleep. "Jews," he whispers. "I'd expect a kosher diet to help them snore less...even if they are ex-amazons. O Liv, why can't you be my wife?"

He looks up at his ceiling. There's a poster above his bed...that Fitz can only see parts of in this limited light. By day, it's of a teenage Abraham Lincoln. He wears black briefs and a braided goatee, and wields a vampire-slaying sword...like a Lycan in _Underworld_, if they were de-powered... On the other side of the painting, a gargantuan mosquito stands, poised to defend itself. Legend has it that it was once a rightist heffalump, who had a bad encounter with a Dixie-wrought bloodsucking demon, and...

Right; Fitz needs to go back to sleep. And these visions will only give him nightmares, so... He closes his eyes, and tries to relax. He tries to rethink the seismic vibrations from his bed, coming from Ophir's snoring, as an attempt, by her, to give him a Jewish massage...


	11. Chapter 11

At the bottom of the tank, a glass dome sits. Inside, many cichlids swim in circles. They're trapped. And they're all the color of popcorn.

In the side of the dome, a small hatch opens. A sole cichlid swims through. It swims free, leaving its inmates trapped in the dome. It tries to swim away...

Novak, the gay elephatfish, gobbles him down as he swims past. As far as he's concerned, the cichlid tastes like popcorn.

Around him, Cyrus and Ambruso do the same thing. They swim in place. They don't move, other than use their swim bladders to maintain the right buoyancy. Tonight, they're watching a sport, as they watch over the President's precious Grey House.

THIS GAME IS A MASTERPIECE IN THE WILD WORLD OF SPORTS, Ambruso praises it, telepathically. I'D LIKE TO SHAKE THE FIN OF THE GENIUS WHO INVENTED IT.

Telepathically, Cyrus scoffs. THAT'D BE US, he reminds his gay partner.

Ambruso hesitates. IN THAT CASE, I'D LIKE TO FIND A WAY TO SHAKE THE FIN OF THE GENIUS WHO INVENTED IT WITHOUT THROWING A WRENCH INTO THE DAILY RHYTHMS OF BOTH OUR SWIM BLADDERS.

Novak shakes his head. LESS TALKING; MORE WATCHING.

OF COURSE, Cyrus pledges. I WOULDN'T MISS THIS BIG GAME FOR THE WORLD...GAY OR STRAIGHT.

Tonight, the Speaker of the House is atop the Vice President. They're both atop the President's desk. As he fucks her, the desk scoots back and forth, across the floor. The carpet has been ripped away, where it's slid. The desk hits opposite walls of the Oval Office, and makes thunder. Neither the Speaker nor the Vice President mean to do this; the elephantfish are telekinetically forcing them to have sex with one another.

I THOUGHT WE WERE GAY, Ambruso protests. WHY AREN'T WE WATCHING TWO men DO IT?

WE WILL, Cyrus insists. JUST HOLD ON TO YOUR PINK SCARF.

I DON'T WEAR A PINK SCARF.

IT'S JUST AN EXPRESSION.

OF COURSE, Ambruso recalls. GAY MALE FASHION. I TELEPATHICALLY OVERHEARD SOME OF THE ZOO WORKERS TALKING ABOUT THAT ON MY TRIP FROM BURUNDI. With that, Ambruso pulls a switch on the wall of the tank. Another live cichild swims up, and he snarfs it down.

Next, they watch the Senate majority leader and the House minority leader do it. They make even more noise, and leave even more skids in the wood beneath the Oval Office carpet; this time, they're both male.

AH, THIS IS MORE LIKE IT, Cyprus praises. VOYEURISM, AND WHO IT should STALK...

SOMEHOW, Novak worries, I THINK WE SHOULD DO A BETTER JOB OF WATCHING OVER THE PRESIDENT'S OFFICE WHILE HE'S IN PROTECTIVE CUSTODY.

A.Y.F.K.M.? HE'S IN SOME WILDERNESS HAVING WILD AND CRAZY SEX WITH THE AFROASIAN PRESIDENT, WHILE THE FIRST LADY SITS IN A HOSPITAL BED IN A CATATONIC STATE. HE'S HAVING ALL THE SEXUAL FUN HE COULD POSSIBLY HAVE. IF HE CAN, WHO'S TO KEEP US FROM DOING THE SAME?

WE'RE STEWARDS, Novak insists, NOT THE PRESIDENT. WE SHOULDN'T RUN THIS COUNTRY AS IF IT WAS OURS; THERE ARE NO WILD ELEPHANTFISH IN NORTH AMERICA, IN CASE YOU FORGOT.

Next, the House majority leader and the Senate minority leader do it. They make just as much noise and racket just as involuntarily. In the walls, cameras record the action. The elephantfish control them.

I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE PRESIDENT, Cyrus insists. TONIGHT, AND FOR EVERY NIGHT, AS LONG AS IT TAKES THE FUCKING DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY TO CATCH THE PRESIDENT'S ATTEMPTED ASSASSIN, THE GREY HOUSE IS MY BUSINESS. AND I'M GOING TO RUN IT AS ALL GAY MEN WOULD, IF ONLY THE N.A.U. WOULD HURRY THE FUCK UP, AND FUCKING ELECT THEIR FIRST FUCKING GAY MALE PRESIDENT! SPEAKING OF THE D.H.S...

The elephantfish force the Attorney General, the Secretary of Defense, and Secretary of Homeland Security to engage in a threesome on the Grey House dining room table. They all make the most noise and racket yet.

THIS FEELS DANGEROUS, Ambruso admits. THESE MEN SHOULD BE DANGEROUS ENOUGH TO LEAVE A CRATER WHERE PYONGYANG IS.

AND TO THINK THAT THEY HAVEN'T, Cyrus points out. UNCLE SAM REALLY DOES MAKE POOR CHOICES IN ITS LEADERSHIP...EVEN IF THEY DO LOOK GOOD IN BED WITH EACH OTHER.

BED?! WE'RE NOT DOOMED TO STAY IN EXILE, ARE WE?

Next, they force a Navy admiral to participate in a threesome with a colonel from the Virginia Army National Guard, and a major from the Maryland Air National Guard. And yes, just like before, they're all VERY male.

WE COULD'VE LOADED THEIR PANTS WITH GRENADES, Ambruso suggests. SEEMS LIKE THE GREY HOUSE NEVER GETS ENOUGH FIREWORKS. AND TO THINK THIS COUNTRY MADE FIREWORKS FAMOUS!

THAT WOULD BE CHINA, Cyrus reminds him. WE MERELY TURNED THE WHITE AND BLUE ONES INTO AN INDUSTRY. WOULD'VE DONE THE SAME FOR THE RED ONES, EXCEPT IT'S PRETTY CLEAR THAT CHINA BEAT US TO THOSE. THE COMMUNISTS, SPECIFICALLY...

Next, they force the directors of the FBI, DEA, and ATF to do a threesome. They make less noise...but it's still more noise than the lawmakers made.

EON PRODUCTIONS WILL PROBABLY NEVER CAST A GAY JAMES BOND, Novak laments. AND TO THINK THAT IDRIS ELBA AND EMILY BLUNT ARE TRYING TO DO THEIR PART TO ADD SOME SPICE TO 007'S HERITAGE...

TOM HIDDLESTON MIGHT BE GAY, Cyrus suggests. BUT IF HE IS, HE HASN'T COME OUT YET...THAT I KNOW OF.

In a back room, the elephantfish deviously and telekinetically sign several bills into law, and veto several others. They do all of this in the President's prolonged absence.

THE PRESIDENT'S NOT GOING TO LIKE THE MESS HE'LL COME HOME TO, Novak dreads. WE SHOULD PROBABLY CLEAN UP...

Cyrus flips the switch on the tank wall, and gobbles down some popcorn cichlids. DON'T BE SUCH A GROWNUP. TONIGHT IS ALL ABOUT US. AND WE WILL OWN THIS NIGHT UNTIL THERE'S NONE OF IT LEFT TO OWN...AS WE WILL EVERY SINGLE NIGHT UNTIL PRESIDENT GRANT II COMES HOME.

They all have some more cichlids. They sure are good, they think.

WE COULD'VE TRIED POPCORN SHRIMP, Novak recommends. I READ SOMEWHERE, IN ONE OF THE FIRST LADY'S COOKBOOKS, THAT THEY'RE NOT THAT HARD TO MAKE...

THESE CICHLIDS ARE BUTTERLICIOUS ENOUGH FOR A WHOLE LAKE OF US, MY DEAR NOVAK, Cyrus insists. ALSO, IF YOU'RE GOING TO SWIM IN RIGHTIST PONDS, YOU'VE GOT TO BE WILLING TO PREFER YOUR NATION'S OWN DOWN-HOME COOKING OVER THE FOREIGN-MADE SHIT.

Ambruso scoffs. THIS IS A POND?! AND I THOUGHT LIFE IN LAKE TANGANYIKA WAS TOO RESTRICTED. He hesitates. THEY'D LAUGH AT ME, IF THEY HEARD ME SAY THAT, OF COURSE. AS FAR AS THEY'RE CONCERNED, we're THE ONES WHO DID ALL THE RESTRICTING. BUT THEY'VE NO IDEA HOW MUCH HARDER IT'S GOTTEN TO HUNT THEM, SINCE THE FIRST OF OUR ANCESTORS EVOLVED TO PERFECTION.

YOUR NOSTALGIA IS INSPIRATIONAL, MY DEAR AMBRUSO, Cyrus praises. BUT YOU'RE A NORTH AMERICAN NOW. YOUR SOUL MUST ASSIMILATE TO UNCLE SAM'S, JOHN REYNOLDS'S, JOSEPH DUNCAN'S, WILLIAM HENRY BISSELL'S, BRUCE RAUNER'S, JOHN JAY'S, WILLIAM SEWARD'S, JOHN ALSOP KING'S, AND GEORGE PATAKI'S. WHEN WE FINISH THIS, I CAN TELEKINETICALLY PUT ON A HANK WILLIAMS RECORD FOR YOU, IF...

YOU'RE VERY GENEROUS, Ambruso thanks him, BUT AS LONG AS HE'S NORTH AMERICAN TOO, I THINK I'D PREFER A JOHN LEE HOOKER RECORD.

Novak arches his fish eyelids. I MUST CONFESS, CYRUS; YOU'VE IMPORTED A GAY THREESOME PARTNER WITH SOME GREAT TASTES IN MUSIC.


	12. Chapter 12

A pink dawn rises over a cool humid forest. Within it, the fort within which the President is being protected doesn't seem to awaken much; not even a reveille is blown.

Inside, the TV is on. The theme music for _Good Morning, Right-Wingers!_, a news program, is in progress.

Fitz is in his robe. On the coffee table, he lays out many baskets of bread. They're his wife's recipe. He's prepared them for a VERY special part of his morning routine...

"Alright, Dr. Ghurani," Fitz mutters, eyes half-open, due not not having gotten enough sleep the night before. "Let's see just how well your precious Shiite hide lasts over the barrels of oil that the aircraft carriers of my navy have in store for you, when their JAG puts you on trial. I swear you're gonna pay. Somehow I knew that torturing me would never be good enough for you." He hiccups. "What'd I ever do to you, anyway...besides be an American in your country's precious skies?"

Ms. Ophir comes in, wrapped in a pink towel. She's still wet from her shower.

"Ooh, news!" She creeps forward. Fitz doesn't seem very secure about having her here. "So this is how you do this in North America..."

"Don't get too comfy. This time, I'm doing this because I have to."

"Oh!" She studies him, and fixes her wet hair. "You want to know how this Dr. Ghurani, or whoever he is, is going to last when your DHS asks him about what he did to you at the Grey House!" Beneath her pink towel, she adjusts her rack. "VERY precious memories of that, by the way..."

Fitz scoffs. "I don't doubt. Honestly, though, I think his wife's a more likely suspect."

"His wife?"

"Yeah. Let's just say that while I was his captive, there were periods of my captivity that were MUCH better accommodated-for than others..."

Fitz flashes back. He's younger. He's in the buff. He's sitting in a dark and dim-lit room.

From a wall across from him, multiple jets of water spray all over him. Some of them trickle over his airway. He's cold, and shivers. He hasn't eaten for three days.

Nearby, a gorgeous Persian woman stands. She's in a red cowl. She admires him, as he's tortured. She's Dr. Ghurani's wife...or so Fitz has been told.

Anti-power radiation, in the dim light, makes Fitz incapable of using his gravity-control powers to escape. Right now, Fitz isn't sure he wants to.

In the corner, Mrs. Ghurani fixes her hair. It's long, wavy, and raven. Her lips are big. And underneath her cowl, there's an endless story...

"You're a long way from home, Ensign Grant," she says, in a lovely accent. "You look like you could use better accommodations."

Fitz scoffs. "You'd think?!" He sneezes water. He steadies himself, to stand the least chance at breathing it. "Whatever you have in mind, you can forget it. I seriously doubt that your precious Iran makes it any better than Mama did."

She scoffs. "Mama," she mocks. "North American men are slow evolvers. I got over my mother as soon as I started puberty."

"Really? I thought all puberty did to women was amplify their greed for money...like what the Seven Rings did to the dwarf lords in the prelude to _the Lord of the Rings_."

She giggles. "You get some interesting inspiration from some unlikely sources, Ensign. Alas, in this case, you're only half-correct. You see, my puberty didn't just amplify my greed for money." She takes off her cowl, and lets it fall on the floor. She expresses all of her assets to near-naked Fitz, trapped in front of the water jets in barely a pair of briefs.

Fitz hiccups...and nearly drowns. He can see Mrs. Ghurani; ALL of her...

"My puberty," she sexually hisses, "amplified my lust...for men. And you look like just the right kind whose nut will crack," she stands on the balls of her feet, and wiggles her upper legs, "if I apply the right amount of pressure to the handles of my nutcracker."

Fitz emits a terrified giggle. "Clearly no one's told you that in North American slang, 'nuts' means a man's seed factories...right?!"

Fitz blinks, and comes back to the present. "So as you can see," he tells Ms. Ophir, "it's possible that my Navy SEALs captured one captive too few."

"Relax," Ms. Ophir drags a finger down Fitz's robe-clad shoulder. "You don't know for a fact it was Dr. Ghurani who attacked you." She bites her lip, and fidgets her legs. "In fact..."

"I'm not his only victim, you know. He's had others before me. Most of them only screwed up as much as merely flying into Irani airspace with less than an Irani roundel on their aircraft. Even if he didn't try to kill me at the Grey House, he deserves to have his ass chucked in Jahannam for the entirety of our _grandchildren's_ lives...and then the entirety of our grandchildren's grandchildren's lives, on top of that."

Ms. Ophir arches her brows. "OUR grandchildren's grandchildren?!"

"Well...you know what I mean. We..._are_ members of the same generation, aren't we, Ms. Ophir?"

"And now," a voiceover on the TV announces, "with the first of this morning's news: here's Aaron O'Reilly, the Vietnamese bastard son of the nationwide-famous Bill O'Reilly, who's way too cold-footed to work on this show!"

A beaming, scrawny, half-Vietnamese boy/man appears on the screen. He's here, clearly, to announce the first of _Good Morning, Right-Wingers!_'s morning news...

"Well," he says, smiling. "Good morning, Right-Wingers..." He bursts out laughing. He takes a moment to regain his respiratory balance. "Good morning, Right-Wingers..." He laughs again. As usual, he's having a VERY hard time keeping it together on this morning. "Good morning, Right-Wingers..." He laughs again.

"Wow," Ms. Ophir admits, adjusting her drying hair. "This is intense."

"I put up with this every morning," Fitz admits. He makes a disgusted face. "My wife thinks he's cute!"

They keep watching. Aaron O'Reilly keeps laughing while barely reporting the first of the day's news.

"You," Ms. Ophir asks, "want me to try to find another news program?"

"No, please," Fitz calms her remote-reaching hand with his. "This is part of my morning exercise routine. I like to lose control, and throw my wife's cooking at him." He gestures to all the baking on the coffee table. "That's what I make these for."

"In today's news," Mr. O'Reilly reports, between laughs, "we have many interesting stories to address. But first, we're going to address the one you've probably all been wondering about for over a week now." He laughs again. Fitz reaches for one of his wife's over-baked dinner rolls...

"We're," Mr. O'Reilly laughs again, "we're going to bring to you live coverage, of the trial of," he laughs again, "a certain Irani physician that our precious country knows," he laughs again, "as Dr. Ghurani: the historic captor of none other than our nation's great president, Fitzgerald Grant." He laughs. "I keep wanting to say Grant II for some reason, but," he laughs again, "his father's name isn't even Fitzgerald!" He laughs louder. "It's Jerry!"

"Jerry," Ms. Ophir mocks. "Funny; I never saw you as the product of a Jerry's balls."

"Ah, for once," Fitz puts away the roll, "the bastard son of Bill O'Reilly doesn't beat around the bush before getting to the news that his favorite customer's husband cares most about! Way to go, Aaron! I'm almost considering nominating you for Grey House press secretary! I'm sure my wife would love that, even if I'd consider you a pox!"

"Okay," Mr. O'Reilly gasps from laughter, "so without further ado, here's..." He hesitates, and listens to his ear. He gawks, and loses control of a subtle chuckle, as he re-addresses his audience. "Never mind! We don't have to give you live coverage! The Navy JAG," he laughs again, "has just issued a verdict for Dr. Ghurani!"

"Well, it's about damn time!" Fitz stands, rolls up the sleeves on his robes, and throws a few punches, to relieve tension. "I'd like to see that man executed by SEAL Team Six's firing squad! In fact, I'd order it, if I wasn't worried that one of his minions was being paid to trace the call and kill me in his stead!"

"So," Mr. O'Reilly keeps laughing, "here's the scoop. The doctor," he laughs again, "the Doctor has denied everything!"

"Well of course he has," Fitz shouts. "That's all villains are good at...besides torturing dutiful naval aviators caught in their airspace, and fire RPGs through presidents' windows, trying to assassinate them, like they don't have better business in Old Persia!"

"And the Navy JAG has confirmed," Mr. O'Reilly keeps laughing, "that his alibi checks out!" He laughs even harder, losing more control than ever. "He was," he gasps, "he was giving somebody therapy in Quetta," he keeps laughing, "many, many, MANY hundreds of miles away from the front Grey House lawn," he laughs more, "when the RPG was fired through the President's window," he laughs again, "right under the secret service's noses!" He howls with laughter, losing control.

"What," Fitz exclaimed. "You mean he didn't do it?!"

"He didn't do it," Mr. O'Reilly repeats. "And to think that he was the most likely suspect!" He laughs more. "And it looks like the DHS is back to square one on the mysterious case of," he laughs again, "the RPG that made a boob sandwich out of President Grant's face!"

He laughs even more. This time, it looks like he's really lost control.

Fitz sighs, and turns off the TV. He bows his head, and sighs again.

Subtly, Ms. Ophir tries one of his wife's rolls. She makes a gross face, and smuggles the bite she took out of her mouth...

"He was the only suspect," Fitz whispers. "And the guy who did it is still out there, trying to kill me..."

"Mr. Grant," Ms. Ophir tries to tell him, "there's something I really should..." She hesitates, and puts a pendant, that she's wearing around her neck, to her ear. It seems unusual that she wears such an intricate piece of jewelry when she's taking a shower...

Fitz raises his head. "Yes? Something you should what?"

She shakes her head. "Never mind. Excuse me." She flees through the room, in a bit of a hurry.

Fitz chuckles, and shakes his head. "One moment, she's trying to seduce me," he mutters, "and the next, she's trying to avoid me. Is this the stock Afroasia always elects to be its presidents?!"

An elephant shrew leaps on Fitz's knee. A yellow light on its collar is blinking.

"Ah, well," Fitz grins, and takes the elephant shrew behind a secret panel in the wall. "THIS should be refreshing."

In the lab, he sets the shrew on a desk. He takes off its collar. He removes the tag on the collar. He puts the tag under a microscope, and looks into the microscope.

The tag flashes a message to Fitz. It says, in phrases at a time:

OLIVIA POPE IS HERE. NOT WHAT YOU THINK. DON'T WORRY. NOBODY ELSE KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE. SHE CAME IN THE NIGHT. WE DIDN'T SEE HER AT FIRST. SHE'S A LITTLE SCARED. BUT SHE'S CALMER NOW, THAT WE CAN TELL.

Fitz shakes his head. He's confused...

LOOK IN THE SPICE CABINET, IN THE KITCHEN. CHECK A JAR, LABELLED..."EBONY BLEND." P.S.: DON'T FREAK OUT WHEN YOU SEE WHAT'S INSIDE.

The messages stop flashing. The tag gives Fitz permission to reconnect it to the shew's collar. Fitz does. Still confused, he leaves the lab, and checks the spice cabinet...as the tag instructs.

He opens it. He has to dig around for it, but he finds it. He narrows his eyes, confused. The jar looks empty...

He takes it out, and holds it to the light. It looks like there's something small inside. From here, it looks like a seasoning seed. He's tempted to shake the jar...until he acknowledges a big "DO NOT SHAKE" sticker that's wrapped around the bottle's neck.

On second glance...it looks like a bug. Fitz takes an even closer look...

It's a woman. She's pressed her back up against the glass. She's in nothing but revealing white lingerie. She seems scared. Hesitantly, she raises her hand, and waves back at him. She shrugs, and voices the word, "hi?"

Fitz shakes his head, still confused. "Liv?!"

She bites her lip, and nods. She moves her finger in a circle, and shrugs.

"Mr. Grant," Ms. Ophir calls, "where do you keep the plastic bags? I want to feed your wife's cooking to the birds. I've been told that the bird watching in this area is a tourists' paradise."

Fitz quickly hides the spice jar behind his ass, and faces Ms. Ophir. He tells her where the bags are.

"I wouldn't recommend it," Fitz warns her. "My secret servants have complained about not being able to get the grackles in the Target parking lot to eat it."

Ms. Ophir shrugs. "The wild is even more destitute than they are. Maybe they won't notice how bad it tastes." With that, she takes a box of bags, and leaves.

When she's gone, Fitz sighs with relief, and then sighs again, with stress. Not only is someone still trying to kill him, but the love of his life is in a tight spot that he's not sure how to get her out of.

But then, as long as she IS in this tight spot, then... Fitz HAS once said that he's had fantasies about Liv being his little black slave girl...


	13. Chapter 13

This is Cologne, North Rhine-Westphalia. (That's a German state, in case that name sounds strange.) But for many Turkish-Germans, the name of the city isn't strange at all. In fact, for them, it's down-home.

Here, a great metal bridge connects the French and German banks of the Rhine River. Just across the Hohenzollern Bridge, in Cologne, the Cologne Cathedral stands. Nowadays, the Cathedral is more of a city ornament. Despite preferring Lutheranism during the Reformation, most Germans in Germany these days seem to prefer irreligion.

That certainly seems like the case for a lot of the local Turkish-German riffraff, who like to creep through Cologne's backstreets. On may of the walls, their graffiti still expresses itself.

On the basketball courts, they nearly trample one another while playing basketball. In many ways, they're reminiscent of their hip-hop kin in Harlem, New York.

Throughout this part of Cologne, records play. They play hip-hop; both the local Turkish-German shit, and the foreign shit.

In a studio somewhere under the city, such a record player plays GLS United's "Rapper's Deutsch." Does the name sound strange? Not to worry. If you've ever heard a song by the Sugarhill Gang called "Rapper's Delight," rest assured that this is merely Turkish-Germany's humorous take on it.

On a stage, rappers dance. They rehearse and exercise at the same time. In the shadows, few observe them. Most are either too old or too young to gain anything from quid pro quo.

Clearly, this community is more leftist that Prussia certainly once was, back when Prussia still existed. The Turkish-Germans wouldn't say that, of course. As far as they're concerned, the leftists are the ones who divided their homeland, from the East, after WWII ended. But of course, just because they don't know what something is doesn't mean they aren't something...

Back at the basketball court, a few Turkish-Germans take a break. They laugh, and refresh themselves at the court benches.

One of their cell phones ring. On a dime, they all stop and watch it. They recognize the number; like any good smartphone, it IDs it for them. They all gawk, and laugh.

They all run beneath a grove of trees, and take the call. They put it on speaker.

"Hey yo, Lover-Boy," they greet him. "Thanks for hollering back!"

"Lover-Boy," as they call him, doesn't sound anything at all like a Turk. In fact, he sounds like a student from Gottingen. And yet, these Turkish-Germans see him as family. But then, who wouldn't? When he's closer, he smells as sweet as this city's name.

Lover-Boy seems loud and concerned. He usually sounds like he's in a life-or-death situation. He tells his homeboys that what he's doing "out here," wherever that is, gets scarier and scarier the more he does it. He also says that, "at one point, Grant almost ate me..." whatever THAT means...

Alas, the Turkish-Germans react and smile, as if they know what that means. They all think that what Lover-Boy's doing is very brave; they all agree that none of them have the humility to. And he's doing it all for a girl that they all want. But of course, they all get it if she wouldn't prefer any of them instead; not only is she an Afroasian, but she's got better politics than anyone in the Turkish-German hoods of Cologne.

Alas, Lover-Boy complains about how he doesn't feel that the girl values his safety much. He also complains about how "Grant," the man she's doing shit with, is starting to suspect what he and she are up to, and that he might not take it well when he finds out...

"Boo," they all say to him. "It ain't 'when,' bro! It's 'if!' You gotta have more confidence, if you gonna keep that Jewish amazon chief ho joined at yo hip!"

"I really don't think I can see this one through," Lover Boy complains. "I need to get home...!"

"Holler back, bro! We out!" With that, they hang up. They laugh, high-five one another all around, and return to the court to shoot more hoops...


	14. Chapter 14

Around the Grey House, the night crickets sing. All is calm...and yet, the lights are on inside.

Inside, a music system's playlist surfs itself, to a classic Lou Bega track. It plays it.

In the Oval Office, several barrels of liquid fuel light themselves. They're set ablaze. Just above them, the chairman of the Jackass party hangs upside down, hog-tied and thrashing. He's in for a hot time tonight...

The music begins. Inside Cyrus's tank, he and his tank mates have donned fedora hats. Telekinetically, they spin an ornamental walking cane around the tank. While swimming in place, they sway to the music. (None can dance. They don't have legs...)

During the music, the Head Jackass is broadsided with spray hoses. He's clobbered by trip hammers, which hit him from two sides at once. He's shot up with tasers, and stunned with minimal dignity. Cymbals are clapped very close to his blindfolded head...

In the tank, Cyrus and his mates have a party, while watching their boss's enemy get tortured over barrels of oil. They're all really rocking these fedora hats...and that cane, that they spin around the tank, that they twirl like a baton, and won't put down...

Together, the elephantfish sway, and flirt to the beat of Lou Bega's "Ice Cream." Before them, all of the federation's most formidable influences get tortured to the beat, and a billion other things that the elephantfish can think of...

During the song, the Head Jackass gets hammered the hardest during the "whoop, whoops." He must be terrified. He thrashes, and orders, through the gag, to be released. He sounds just like an actual stubborn jackass, when it refuses to do any labor after its master treats it badly... But of course, the Jackasses are in the professional business of treating the heffalumps like crap. And therefore, the heffalumps, MUST, by the laws of fairness, reciprocate...

It's what voters expect, after all. Plus, the elephantfish get to have fun, while house-sitting the Grey House...and, quite possibly, overthrowing the federal government while its usual leader is in protective custody.

And it looks like the elephantfish's stay on the NAF throne has been prolonged. From what they've heard, the DHS is out of likely suspects; and until they find the trail again, the President can't come back to his life without expecting it to be taken from him as soon as his enemy finds out, from the press, that he's back on duty, and has re-painted the target on his back from before...


	15. Chapter 15

In paradise, Fitz lies on his back, in the buff, on a shabby chic bed. For the first time since his wedding, he's never felt so much bliss.

Far beneath a very tall peak, Liv trembles, as she prepares to climb it. This'll be a bitch. It'll be an even bigger bitch than what she's used to, as a lawyer who turns scandal into praise for a living. She shouldn't be too intimidated. She's a bitch, after all, and she's merely fighting foes who're qualified to fight her. But this peak is Mt. Grant; and no Pope chick has ever been up it.

She has one advantage, though. Mellie Grant has never been up it, either.

"Better get a move on, Liv," Fitz's voice thunders across the air. "I won't stay hard all night...as much as I'd love to."

Liv sighs, and gets a move-on. This isn't too challenging. As a little girl, she was in fist fights with Rhonda Rousseys of women who didn't give her half as much trouble as this is, as she climbs it. Heck, she even took on Mt. Rogers, in Virginia, when she was slightly older. Naturally, though, this is a steeper climb. And not to mention quite sticky...

"Go back down," he commands.

Liv hesitates. She's tempted to look down. She does. She trembles more.

Liz screams, as she falls. She barely grabs one of Fitz's pubic hairs...

Hard, Fitz is gripping two slats within the bed's headboard. When Liz hits the end of his hair's slack, he doubles forward...inadvertently taking the slats out of the headboard.

Without trying to, he dives both, crossed, into the chest of...a VERY horrifying intruder. It's big, built like a human, and looks like a tilapia.

It opens its huge mouth, and looks Fitz in the face with its dark eyes. Fitz gapes back. At some point, he notices that the behemoth's been skewered, in the chest, by two sticks, and is showing no signs of dying. At that, Fitz screams.

Queen Tilapia retaliates. She roars, and ejects a shitload of mucus from her huge mouth, drenching Fitz in it.

Far below, Liv cowers, like a tiny ant, beneath Queen Tilapia's undercarriage. (A very ghastly sight, by the way...)

"Fitz," Liv shouts. "Fitz, I'm scared!"

Fitz leaps off the bed, and runs. He barely notices the painful tug of the hair in his groin, as Liv helplessly swings from it, as it's a long fall to the floor.

Still in the buff, Fitz gets to the kitchen. He digs through all the drawers, desperate to find the knives.

Behind him, Queen Tilapia charges him. Just in time, Fitz finds the knives.

He jabs Queen Tilapia, in the chest, with every one he finds. They all go into her. None weaken her. Terrified, Fitz pushes her over, and tries to run.

She catches up with him, tackles him, and rolls with him onto the sofa. She's atop him. Fitz is cornered. Looks like she's going to win...

Without thinking, Fitz grabs a lit lamp from a bedside table nearby, and tries to smash Queen Tilapia in the head with it. The lamp smashes, alright...alas, Queen Tilapia doesn't shed a single vital.

With her slimy fin, she wrestles the lamp from his grasp, and breaks it in two with both fins. Terrified, Fitz gapes up at her.

"There is no light," she hisses, sounding like a black girl, "that can overcome darkness...President Grant II!"

Fantastic; a white fish that sounds like a black girl. But of course, tilapias DO come from Mozambique...

Seeing his opportunity, Fitz rolls off the couch, and runs. He knocks Queen Tilapia over in the process.

He runs across the room. It's very large. Behind him, Queen Tilapia starts chasing him. Here and there, small pieces of furniture sit.

As he runs, Fitz grabs them. He throws them all behind him, trying to slow the beast down. He doesn't. She sure is one durable bitch...

From his hair, Liv helplessly swings, too scared to let go. She's getting tired...

Fitz's escape dead-ends at a wall. The wall is bare, aside from a painting hanging from it. It's of Mrs. Robinson's hose-clad leg, from the old movie _the Graduate_. Somehow, in this situation, it looks like one pathetic excuse for a last resort...

Fitz looks behind him. Queen Tilapia's gaining too much ground too fast. Desperate, he rips the picture off the wall, with both hands. He winds back, and throws it across the room, as if it were a discus.

In a miracle of luck, Fitz is saved...to an extent. The picture flies right under Queen Tilapia's pelvis, at one side. Spinning in fast motion, it somehow slices off her right leg. Blood spews from the cut as it's made.

Queen Tilapia bellows, and cripples over, but doesn't fall. She's been hurt.

Behind her, the picture continues its trip around the room. Spinning like a discus, it flies into the kitchen. From the ceiling over the island, many metal pots and pans hang. Still airborne, the painting knocks them all off their hooks, as if they were upside-down metal dominoes.

Like a boomerang, the painting starts heading back towards its thrower. Concerned, Fitz spreads his hands out, and prepares to catch it...

The need is robbed of him, as the painting, instead, flies right into the brooding Queen Tilapia's back. It shatters, wood, glass, and all, against her back. To that, she doesn't react. The impact doesn't seem to hurt her.

The canvas is left adrift in the air. It gently floats to the floor, like a parachute, and lands atop Queen Tilapia's severed leg, covering it like a blanket.

A picture of a leg lying over a severed real one; this is almost inspirational...

"Fitz!" Exhausted and afraid, Liv still hangs from Fitz's hair. "Fitz, could you let me down? I can't hold on!"

Fitz runs to the couch, as Queen Tilapia still broods. He rolls the couch over on its back, uncovering a shotgun case that lies beneath. He unlatches it, and puts the damn thing together. Once he's loaded it, he runs back to Queen Tilapia to give her a piece of his mind.

He empties one of its barrels at her. The shell shatters to powder, against her hide. It doesn't damage her. Standing on one leg, she slowly raises her head, and glares at Fitz.

"THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT, BITCH," Fitz shouts. "NOW LEAVE! AND DON'T COME BACK!" He sighs. "I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT KIND OF AMMO IS CAPABLE OF HURTING YOU, BUT TRUST ME WHEN I SAY THAT I WILL GLADLY SEARCH THE WHOLE PLANET JUST TO FIND IT!"

Queen Tilapia sighs, and flips Fitz the bird, with her fin. It's still got knives impaled in it.

With that, she hops outside, into the night, on one leg. She leaves her fallen one behind, laid to rest beneath a painting of Mrs. Robinson's leg.

Fitz draws an easy breath, unloads the shotgun, and drops it. He then relieves Liv, just as she's about to let go from fatigue.

Fitz wakes. It was all a dream. Next to him, Ms. Ophir snores. Figures; Liv make come and go into his life, but some things just never change...

Once again, Fitz notices the poster of Abraham Lincoln charging a vampire, that hangs on the ceiling above his bed. He shudders, and lies on his side. He has no idea who hung that poster there. And he has no idea what the fuck they were thinking...

"I left Cyrus and his tank mates in the Grey House alone," he whispers to himself. I might not still have my job when I get back." He looks around, and thinks about what horrors creep around in the shadows around the fort, waiting to take a shot at him. "_If_ I get back," he adds...


	16. Chapter 16

The fort is a secure place. It might be even more secure than Fitz imagines...

Outside, on the weapons range, Ms. Ophir commits to some target practice. She might as well; she's going to be here a while. And if Uncle Sam complicates this more than she already has, she and Fitz are both in a tight spot. And Afroasia will be in the hands of less-than-capable admins for that much longer...

Some of them are Islamic extremists. It's already bad enough that the North American States have lost a pair of twin skyscrapers to the foregoable wrath of the worst of one of her country's favorite religions...with the other two being Judaism, her own, and Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity...

Somalis have made a lot of trouble for these North American states too, now that she thinks of it. It's almost hilarious to think that most Somalis haven't even seen the Statue of Liberty...

With confidence, she fires an antitank grenade launcher. It makes a big bang.

She wonders if she should tell Fitz what she knows about the attack on the Grey House... But she keeps deciding against it. First of all, this is a diplomatic errand she's on...or was on, before the attack prolonged things. And second of all, Fitz comes from a VERY conservative group of officials; officials who...might not understand her need to do things like this...or the needs of the men she loves...especially if a rightist would ever see any man as, say, "out of her league..."

A lot of men see themselves as out of Wonder Woman's league. And to think that she's just a primitive amazon...

Inside, Fitz lies down. He's on his chest. He's in a pair of white briefs. They're just white; this time, at least, they're NOT Vixen-patterned...

Vixen the DC heroine, not...

Liv's on his ass. She's still a fraction of her normal size. She's like a bug on Fitz's ass. And yet, for the most part, Fitz feels as if his ass is being manhandled by his favorite woman.

"Thank you for coming out here, Liv," he says. "You're the first inner peace I've had since this all started."

"I really wasn't trying to come out here." Liv massages one of Fitz's cheeks, best she can. "I told you earlier, I didn't know where you were. I didn't even expect this...treatment of one of my clients, to do this to me."

"So, one of your clients is a witch. I can see now why my wife voiced concern, when I asked you to be..."

"She wasn't my client. She was someone my client knew. And if you ask me, you should take away her license, after what she did to me. Or at least, if you were really PASSIONATE about me, you'd do just that."

Fitz scoffs. "Somehow, I KNEW...that my so-called 'lack of passion' was why you'd do something like this..."

Liv sighs. "Can I help it that I'm attracted to powerful men?!"

"You know...a lot of people think that YOU'RE a powerful person. It seems strange that you look for power in a partner, when you've already got enough power in you for four people."

"I don't feel that way, Fitz," she moans. "That's why I'm always working so hard; to get to where men like you are."

"I just don't get it, how you're attracted to powerful men, as you said, and you thought I wasn't powerful when you came to join my campaign..."

"I wasn't trying to stoke your flames, Fitz. I wasn't even expecting you to listen to me. Why would you, after all? I'm just a black girl, with a family history of involuntary servitude in the South, and you're a white man who's been lobbying for high tariffs and low income taxes since you learned the difference between the two...along with a lot of other things that sound strange and scary to more egalitarian crowds."

"Well next time, you should be more careful. The next person you discipline COULD be a lot easier to correct than you realize."

Liv sighs. "If only dreams came true... I got lucky with you. And as you can see, luck isn't always my friend when I'm working!"

"And yet, somehow, you fix EVERYTHING that your clients present you with. Shit, you've even tricked the most powerful country in the world into thinking that its President loves its First Lady like Johnny Cash loved June Carter."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, enough about me. Who is that slut you're staying with, and why are you sleeping together?"

Fitz grins. "Of course. It's a long story."

"I might as well hear it. I've got NO idea how to fix what's wrong with me."

"Her name is Silka Ophir. She's..."

"Let me guess; Gal Gadot's clone, that the leftists have sent to defame you, in a way that they mysteriously seem to know that I'll struggle with while fixing?"

Fitz chuckles. "She's the president of Afroasia, believe it or not. She was on a diplomatic errand. But as you can see, things have gone sideways."

"Let me guess; her angry Islamic extremist husband has put a price on your head, and they're putting you in protective custody because ever since the Twin Towers, no one here can take risks whenever a foreign Arab makes a threat against our nation's security?"

Fitz studies her, out of the corner of his eye. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a crappy fortune-teller?"

"Shut up. Tell me more."

"Things were going fine...at first. Or rather, they were going better than fine. A few times, we were on TV. And I have NO idea how my wife didn't see us before she came home, and caught me, on the Grey House floor, being suffocated by her rack."

"I probably would've...except my client took me everywhere except the real world. You have NO idea how many crazy people I had to convince that he wasn't secretly polygamous; most of them were just scammers, trying to raid his...allegedly dinar-stocked wallet."

"Anyway, we got back to the Grey House. We were about to have the main part of our meeting. She said the sun was hurting her eyes, so I asked someone to shut the blinds. But for some reason, all of my pages were detained, and even though I just gave Cyrus a new tank-mate, there STILL isn't enough telekinesis in those heads of theirs to replace my pages..."

"They could've been bluffing. Cyrus is your chief of staff; he's supposed to sound intimidating."

"Yes; Ophir found that out the hard way, the first time he talked to her. Anyway, there was no one else to do it, so I tried to do it myself. And then, for some reason, Ophir leapt up, charged me, and pinned me to the floor, moments before an antitank rocket flew into the Grey House, and blew up most of the parlor."

Liv stops massaging his ass. "O my god! You were attacked by an RPG?! Was anybody hurt?!"

"Surprisingly, no. But moments after the explosion, when Ophir's rack was still in my face, Mellie came home." He grins, and looks back at her. "KEEP RUBBING MY ASS, SLAVE!"

"Yes, Mr. President," Liv says, faking a Southern accent. She keeps massaging his cheek. "So, Mellie came home, and your face was in another woman's breasts. How'd she take it?"

"Nobody knows yet. She went into a catatonic state. She still is. One of my secret servants called the hospital a few hours ago; she's still a statue."

"Thank god. Mellie ALWAYS needs a break...especially from you."

"Of course you'd think so. Anyway, the NSA thinks that someone's trying to kill me, so I've been relocated out here for my protection. And because Ophir might be a likely target too, that's why she's here. Cyrus is still in the Grey House, with his tankmates."

"I can't believe you let him have two husbands. Gay men will NEVER make sense to me...as much as we both love men."

"Anyway, it turns out that Ophir and I have a lot in common. And she sleeps in my bed because we both have bad dreams."

"Well if you ask me, that makes you codependents. I'm honestly shocked that you wouldn't both have a worse dream if you slept together passionately."

Outside, a rocket explodes. Ophir's still hard at her target practice...

"I'm really rather let down by you, Fitz," Liv adds. "You love me, and you have bad dreams. I'd like for you to tell me about them. Uh...you haven't told Ophir what they are, have you?"

"Not as much as I'd tell you. Very well, I'll tell you the first scary thing I dreamed." He looks back at her. "You can take a break from that, if it helps you listen."

"Actually...I think I'll massage your other cheek for a bit. Could you give me a lift? I REALLY don't want to vault your butt crack."

Fitz laughed. "I'm wearing briefs!"

"Yeah, but...what if you fart?"

"Fine." Fitz reaches back, gathers her in three of his fingers, cranes her across his butt crack, and sets her down in the most sensitive spot atop his other butt cheek. As soon as she's landed, she gets to work.

If Fitz is the eagle, does that make Liv the brown-headed cowbird?

"In my first dream," Fitz discloses, "I relived my dream of being a naval aviator. I'd made it through the academy, and now the navy was augmenting my strength, and giving me the power to control my own gravity..."

"I confess I have sex fantasies about you with that. Go on."

"And then I flew a mission over Iran. The mission was going fine, until I was impeded, in midair, by Dr. Ghurani."

Still massaging his cheek, Liv thinks. "I once had a client who kept mentioning that name."

Fitz nods. "He's a dark sorcerer, if I ever met one. Plus, he's got the Shiiteforce on his side. Shit, he's on closer terms with Allah than the Supreme Leader himself."

"I doubt anyone does, but go on."

"Anyway, he took me to Jahannam. The ground was on fire, and there were black airborne demons everywhere. What's worse, Dr. Ghurani shapeshifted...into Mellie. And I must confess that Mellie NEVER looked better in black."

Liv chuckles. "I must confess that the only time she does wear black is at funerals. She probably wore white to your fucking wedding. If I were there, I would've ripped that fucking gown off her fucking body."

"She defended Iran; Dr. Ghurani, not Mellie. It wasn't really Mellie...that I could tell. I told her that my orders were to disarm her people. She retaliated by shooting me down." He hesitates. "And then I woke up."

"Okay, that's one. Tell me about the other one."

"Wait... Aren't you going to review my first dream?"

"Do I LOOK like a writer to you? Come on, and tell me about your second one."

"Very well. But I must warn you, that this one's a lot harder to explain."

"I don't expect you to explain it...OR understand it. If I understood all of my dreams, I'd be a psychotherapist."

"Of course. So, I was in bed. My cock was erect. You were climbing it."

"Wait," Liv stops, again. "I was this small in your dream?!"

"Believe it or not, Liv, I wouldn't mind if we never found a way to resize you back to normal."

Liv sighs, and keeps massaging his cheek. "I hate you so much. Go on."

"I was moaning. You were climbing, as if my cock was a fucking mountain. It was some of the BEST sex in my life. If you took the consummation of my marriage with Mellie, and the consummations of the marriages of every single rightist president, from John Adams to George Bush Jr..."

"I get it. What happened next?"

"There was a headboard behind me. It had rails in it. I was clutching two of the rails, as you were climbing me. And then, all of a sudden, and without trying to, I pulled the rails right out of the headboard, sat up, crossed the two rails, and jabbed them right into the chest of..." Fitz pauses, for dramatic effect. "And before I knew it," he starts out more slowly, "I was staring right into the face of one of the scariest people who I'd ever met."

"Let me guess; Sharon Stone from Basic Instinct?"

Fitz sighs. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a crappy fortune teller?"

"Sorry. Go on."

"It was Lady Carp. She's a human/carp hybrid, that I've dreamed about before. She has a mouth so big, she could swallow a baby, or a prepubescent child, without choking. And again, I was staring right into that when I opened my eyes."

"Wow, that does sound scary. How did I react?"

"I didn't see you. But I DO remember giving you a hard time, with what I did next. First, I screamed. Then, I got up and ran. I fell over the bed, and hit my head a few times, but as soon as I could, I charged down the hallway. Lady Carp chased me. I ran, until I got to the kitchen. I rummaged through all the drawers, looking for some knives. And you were still down there, hanging from one of my penis hairs, tiring, and begging me for relief. But I couldn't, because I knew that if I stopped, she'd kill us both."

Liv shakes her head. "I still can't believe you have nightmares about a CARP. Seriously, if we met before you met Mellie, I could've sexed you so much that by the time the Grey House started to matter, you wouldn't have known a carp from a goldfish."

"Lady Carp caught up with me. I still hadn't found the knives. I panicked. She gaped, shrieked, and charged me...

"I found the knives. I stabbed her in the arm-which was really the upper part of one of her fins. She didn't react. The knives just stuck there...and still, she stood as strong as ever..."

"If THIS is what the President dreams of, I honestly don't know why we're not under a Code Orange more often."

"I leapt onto the couch. She tackled me. There was a lamp nearby. I grabbed it, and smashed it over her head. She gaped at me, and shrieked. I did too.

"THERE IS NO LIGHT,' she said to me, 'THAT CAN OVERCOME DARKNESS..."

"Did she say that with her abnormally huge mouth, or telepathically, like Cyrus does?"

"Somehow, I threw her. I got up, and ran. You were relieved at first, but then you were hanging again, as soon as I got up and kept running. You swore up at me."

"Ah," Liv smiles, flapping her hair. "Do you remember which words I used?"

"The room was big. There was small furniture, arrayed all over it. Lady Carp chased me. One by one, I picked up each furniture item, and threw it at her, to try to slow her down."

"And she didn't slow down?"

"No, she just..." Fitz stops, and looks back. "Wait...when did you become such a good fortune-teller?"

"Well, Mr. President," Liv says, grinning, "I'm not THAT bad a listening, just so you know..."

Fitz sighs. "Fine. Anyway, I got to the other wall. I was trapped. I could either go out the glass wall-which was a ten-story drop-or, I could make use of the only material thing within my reach that seemed useful..."

"Let me guess: a crossed pair of rifles, that your father kept on his wall, to intimidate any of your sister's boyfriends who came courting her earlier than he expected?"

Fitz sighed. "Ah, and yet, the same old Liv never dies. Anyway, it was an old picture of Mrs. Robinson's hose-clad and otherwise-bare leg. There was this controversial movie, back in the '60s, called _the Graduate_..."

"Yeah, I know. Go on."

"Really?! A lot of Gen-Xers don't..."

"No, no! I know what it is; go on."

"I ripped the picture off the wall. I think I might've ripped some of the wall off, too. Lady Carp was closing in, and her mouth was as huge as ever...maybe even big enough to swallow both of us. Desperate for relief, I took the picture in both hands, and I threw it across the room, as if it were a discus..."

"Hmm; that's a sad thing. Capt. America only needs one hand to throw his shield."

"I got lucky. As soon as I threw the picture, I discovered the monstrous fish's Achilles heel: her legs. They were slimy, and clearly a LOT weaker than she had me believe. As the picture flew and spun under her, it amputated one of her legs."

Liv gapes. "Wow; I must confess I did NOT see that coming."

"Behind Lady Carp, the picture flew in a circle, like a boomerang. It knocked a lot of pans off a ceiling rack, above the island, in the kitchen where I'd just tried to stab her. And it came back around, and smashed into a million pieces when it made impact with her fish scale-armored back. Well; not entirely; the picture itself survived. Once it was free of the frame, it glided, like a parchment parachute, all the way down to the floor...where it rested, easily, atop Lady Carp's amputated and slime-bleeding leg."

"And...you said that the picture was of Mrs. Robinson's leg?!"

"Yes. Below, you were still hanging from my penis hair. You were screaming, constantly, for relief. But I forewent you one more time, pulled a shotgun out of the couch, and fired a warning shot into Lady Carp's hide. It didn't hurt her...but she hopped around slowly, on one leg, and glared at me..."

"Really?! You chose a shotgun over me?!" Liv scoffed. "I thought I raised you better..."

"I told her to go away. I told her that even though I didn't know what kind of ammo would penetrate her, I would scour the planet for it, if I had to.

"And somehow, she believed me. She flipped her middle finger at me-best she could, with the fin that I hadn't stabbed the knives into-and hopped out of the room, on one slimy leg. I waited until I couldn't hear her. And I lowered the shotgun, and drew an easy breath."

"Did you cover her leg in oil, and fry it like it was damned?"

"No."

"Too bad. I sure would've; and I would've made it extra crispy. Does she have arthritis, by the way, or do you know?"

"At long last, I relieved you. I held you in my hand, massaged your ass with my finger, and begged you for forgiveness."

"Aw," Liv admits, "that's sweet!" She hesitates; she's stopped massaging Fitz's cheek. "Still though, I'm glad it wasn't Lady ANACONDA that attacked you. She would've wanted me because I had buns."

"Yeah, there's a slight problem with that. You were the same size you are now; your ass would've been meaningless to her...AND Nicki Minaj's crushes."

Liv hesitates. She sighs, shakes her head, and keeps massaging Fitz's cheek. "Of course. I don't know why I ever bother to dream big."

Fitz smiles, and sighs happily. "THERE. I've shared my worst dreams with the woman I love. Now if only my secret servants would catch that son of a bitch who's trying to kill me and Ophir, so that we can both go home."

"Yeah, what do you really know about this Ophir chick anyway, Fitz? You keep telling me that you two have a lot in common, but...have you seriously never checked her urine?"

"Well...I've seen her humanity...and I've seen how her skill dilutes it. What else is there?"

Liv laughs. "Why don't you just admit it, Fitz? You have a crush on her. You couldn't see what was wrong with her if she was stowing a nuke in her low-cut."

"She's a Jew. And I'm an Islamic extremist...as much as I must confess that my party has in common with the desert-dwelling rogues who invented jihad..."

"Muslims aren't the only people who hate Jews, Fitz. Just saying."

Through the bedroom door, Ophir can hear some of what Fitz says. She thinks she can hear Liv, but she isn't sure. Poor Fitz; neither he nor Liv have noticed that an explosion hasn't happened outside in a while. They probably neither know nor care where Ophir is, as long as she hasn't left the fort and put them all in danger...or, so rumor has it...

Ophir narrows her eyes, and nods her head, as she listens. It seems, to her, that she and Fitz really DO have a lot in common, after all...

She walks down the hall, to where it dead ends. She looks up at a vent, and sighs...

"I share with them," she starts muttering, "I share with them not. I share with them...I share with them not..."


	17. Chapter 17

This is Frémont Memorial Hospital. It's where the First Lady's being cared for.

It's nighttime. A light rain falls. Every now and then, cars pass. Uncle Sam pays good money to make sure no one goes upstairs just to get the First Lady's autograph.

Inside, she's still catatonic. She blinks now...but that's about all she does better...

Through the south entrance, Aaron O'Reilly enters. At the desk, he IDs himself, and asks them about Mellie.

While they're at work, Aaron siezes the opportunity. He sprays them, with gas from a can. They all yawn, and collapse. Aaron joins them, gathers what he needs to visit Mellie, and takes an elevator upstairs. An armed android marches past the elevator door, as it closes.

In a tank down the hall, an electric eel swims. Its elevator opens. Aaron steps out, and slithers towards the tank. The knifefish senses Aaron's neurotic signals, and swims to the tank's glass.

"I'm here to see Mellie," he says, in a subtle Vietnamese accent. "Make sure no one bothers us."

_Yes, Mr. O'Reilly_, the knifefish says.

Aaron sighs, and proceeds towards Mellie's room. He doesn't know how he feels, when people call him "Mr. O'Reilly..."

As any fool can see, Aaron isn't nearly as ticklish when he goes to the hospital. But then, he doesn't really have anything funny on his mind right now...

He slips into Mellie's room. He closes the door behind him. He's hung a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the handle. Now, the First Lady is all his...

From outside, one can hear a boy and girl moaning...or rather, a boy and a woman. With the electric eel's help, none of the nurses who're on duty tonight will hear anything, or see any fog, coming out of the First Lady's hospital room...


	18. Chapter 18

They Grey House has, more or less, ghosted the rest of Lincoln City. It's as if it was trying to hide...

In the Oval Office, Sally Langston, the Vice President, works like a robot. She might as well be a robot. She's mentally possessed. As much as Cyrus and his partners would love to run the country themselves, they doubt that most of their subjects would understand it, if the news told them that the Grey House was being manned by three gay elephantfish…

Rightists can be kinda racist. They'd just HATE to hear that a non-human is on the throne of the NAU...

Seems ironic, though; rightists being racist against elephantfishes… Has racism finally turned on itself, as all the critics say it will?

The Chief Justice storms in, in a fury. She demands an explanation, as to how the hell the Grey House is interpreting the North American Union's laws without approval from the judiciary.

The elephantfish tell her to wait, as they fetch Vice President Langston. They swim to another area of the tank, and pretend not to exist for a few moments...

In their absence, the Chief Justice looks around. She looks up, and sees a pink Nazi banner hanging from one of the buttresses...

She scoffs. "A pink Nazi banner?! Who does the President think he is? This is a fucking democracy!"

Through the Grey House, an eerie draft blows. Only the Chief Justice feels it...

Like a charm, the critical expression vanishes from her face. She looks up at the banner, smiles, and sighs happily.

"Ah," she smiles. "A pink Nazi banner! The President must be one of the greatest men of all time! This must be a monarchy, and he must be our king!"

In the shadows, the three elephantfish laugh, telepathically. Behind them, Vice President Langston keeps slaving away at President Grant II's work...

"Screw Jesus," she mutters. "Anyone who seriously thinks that HE'S the messiah is a traitor to our nation's glorious flag!" She looks at her watch. "What am I even doing here? I'm supposed to be at the Supreme Court!" With that, she shrugs, and leaves...

In her absence, the elephantfish resume their conspiring. And, they plot their next threesome.

PRESIDENT GRANT II IS GOING TO HAVE A FIT, Novak reminds them, WHEN HE COMES BACK.

I THINK YOU MEAN, Cyrus narrows his fish eyes, best he can, "IF" HE COMES BACK.

IF, Ambroso echoes. "IF" IS GOOD...

Again, telepathically, the elephantfish laugh. In the President's chair, the Vice President can hear, and she despairs on the inside...but physically, she can't react.


	19. Chapter 19

Back at the fort, the President is still in protective custody. And he's still stuck with the more-than-spunky amazon-ish Afroasian president...

At least he's been reunited with the love of his life. But even so, Fitz is being compelled to cheat on the First Lady with two women...which, as a rightist politician, he doesn't know how he feels about...

It seems a bit symbolic, that both women are either African or as good as... Then again, it could just be a coincidence...

Once again, Fitz has retired. Hopefully, Ophir won't have another nightmare that compels her to sleep in the same bed as Fitz again...

For now, Liv, still under a thousandth her normal size, sleeps on the side of the bed that Mellie would, if she were here. She's happy that she's not. She sure wishes Fitz would divorce her, though. If he was truly over her...

She's never felt more at-home, in Fitz's presence. He's like a god, to her. He's so godly, she's almost tempted to forget all about Jehovah. Not that she's a committed Christian, or anything...

Fuck; if she were a Christian, she'd take a weekly Sabbath at work... Her very existence is a direct violation of the Fourth Commandment...

In his sleep, he reaches for her, and grabs the bedding, all around her. She squeals, as he almost swats her, like a bed bug. She...wouldn't have minded if he had. His grasp is so strong, and manly, and...

Is she crazy?! She can't stay like this! She's a lawyer! She's got clients! She can't help them when she's like this... Although, as much as she hates people, this COULD give her an opportunity to find a way to do business with them without...having to MEET them...

Plus, Fitz likes her like this; he said so himself...and VERY sincerely, if Liv dares say so... She'd sure hate to break his poor, poor little pokin' heffalump hard...

Nonsense; there's GOTTA be a way out of this. So, she takes a trip down to Fitz's slipper, where this all resumed...assuming it began with that client who knew that creepy gypsy witch, who did this to her...

On her ass, she lands in his shoe. It stinks...but with luck, she'll get used to it.

Far ahead, it's like a dark cave. Liv knows there aren't any bats in there. Nonetheless, Fitz doesn't really monitor the traffic in and out of here. ANYTHING could be in the toe, just waiting to pounce on her...

This isn't the time; she's gotta find her way back to normal...even if it means crashing that gypsy witch if she's in the shower, or something. But then, if she's truly that old-school, it seems she'd still be taking baths in wooden stock tanks...

Liv braves the shadows. It stinks in here. She stumbles. She whispers into the darkness, begging it to make her big again.

"Just," she whispers, "don't take me back to that witch. She's creepy, and... I never actually ASKED her to do this to me. I just wanted her to get Fitz to feel more...and express more..."

Behind her, something approaches. She sighs in despair, as she doesn't sense it.

"What have I done," Liv whispers. "I've ruined my own life...all for the love of... I'm not sure what, but CLEARLY, I took the wrong path. I fix everything for everyone; why can't I fix me and Fitz?"

"_Entschuldigen Sie, bitte_," a strange hand touches her shoulder, "_aber…?_"

Liv screams, and beats the shit out of whoever's trying to attack her. She feels bad, when he goes down as easily as he does...

In his sleep, Fitz hears Liv's scream, but doesn't completely understand. "Liv," he mutters.

In the other room, Ophir's got lots of bedding stuffed between her thighs. "Elias," she mutters...

She drags him back into the heel of Fitz's shoe, so she can get a better look at him. She's dragging him by his legs. They're nice legs, and very hairy... But not hairy enough to leave Fitz's for, understand...

At last, she gets to the moonlight. She drops the guys legs, gets down, and looks him over.

He's blond. And unless Liv perceives things wrong...he's her size...if not slightly smaller...

She waits until he wakes. With luck, dawn won't happen before...

It feels like forever. Alas, it only takes ten minutes. The strange man...more of a boy, in ways...groans, and lifts his head. He holds, with his hand, where Liv hit him, and moans.

Liv places her foot on his chest, and pins him. He seems fearful, that her foot, and leg, and body, are those of an African female...

He looks up, into her camel toe. He seems terrified.

"Who are you," Liv demands, "and why are you my size?"

His eyes move around. Liv snaps her fingers.

"HEY! I asked you a question! Two, actually! Do you really think that just because I'm black, that you German folk can..."

"_Was?! Nein, nein!_ I'm not racist! Or, MAYBE I am, but..." He stops, and takes a breath. "There's a LOT to say."

Liv removes her foot, helps him up, and dusts him off. "Okay," she says. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

It doesn't seem to disturb Liv, that she's in lingerie, and he's in briefs...or that her lingerie is white, and his briefs are black... Alas, he seems MUCH more than disturbed, right now...

He nods. "My name is Elias Bek. I was born in North Rhine-Westphalia. I was the middle child of a cheap farm family..."

"The OTHER beginning," Liv corrects him. "The one I care about."

"_Naturlich_," he acknowledges, "the one where I met you. So, it began on a nice sunny spring day in Cologne-that's my hometown. It was a great day for a politician to make a speech. I was taking a journalism class, and was assigned to write a report about a politician's visit to a foreign country..."

In time, they both get out of Fitz's slipper, and find somewhere safer to sit; saf_er_, understand... Elias tells Liv his story...which Liv finds MUCH more than inspirational...


	20. Chapter 20

And so, our story takes us back to Cologne, North Rhine-Westphalia. Alas, the last chapter was set in the present day; this one's a flashback.

With an armed convoy surrounding it, a limo rides across the Hohenzollern Bridge. The limo is fashioned with small Afroasian flags. On both sides of the bridge, Frenchfolk and North Rhine-Westphalians cheer, and wave little Afroasian flags of their own. Many are either Turkic immigrants, or products of them...

It all continues at Cologne Cathedral. Around it, a crowd has assembled. Many have trouble getting inside. Hence, they'll miss out on the Afroasian president, when she reveals her rack...uh, _face_...to Cologne's passionate crowd...

Elias Bek, sadly, will be one of these unlucky souls. He tries to get in closer...but can't.

Nonetheless, his assignment was merely to attend one of these; and he is. All he's got to do, once he gets back to the hood, where hip-hop Turkic immigrants live with him, is write about what he remembers...

He never sees her...but the acoustics in the Cathedral are so high-quality, that everyone can hear her from where they are. Good; at least Elias will have more than just the disgusting, monotonous, and over-human details of the crowd to write about in his report...

Her voice is so seductive. Several times, during her speech, Elias feels as though she's speaking directly to him... Alas, that's just bogus. She's never even MET him, and probably never will... She's a Jew, after all; and he's a Westphalian. Once, less than a century ago, his kin would hang, shoot, and roast her kin in ovens, in swamped death camps all over Central Europe...

Around, a lot of the Turkic immigrants see Elias. Elias tries to be friendly...but they just scoff, and look away.

At one point, Elias is standing right next to a smoking-hot Turkish-German babe. She acts like she never sees him. Elias doesn't blame her. There was a time, less than a century ago, when most Germans would've had a ball roasting, shooting, gassing, and hanging Turks, Azeris, and Turkmens, too...

Nonetheless, she does acknowledge him once. He isn't looking when she does.

"I like your hair," she admits.

Elias looks around... But he shakes his head, and keeps listening to the Afroasian president, thinking he's just hearing voices...

Later on, it all ends. Ophir gets back into her limo, and is driven towards the town's limits...

There are shorter ways through the city...but most of them are too risky for a celebrity such as Ophir to take. So, her secret servants take her on a path they think will be less risky...

This is a nice neighborhood. TOO nice... It's inhabited by a lot of German patriots. For anyone else more local, that'd be amusing news...

Somehow, the convoy is attacked. Somehow, Ophir loses all of her secret servants. Somehow, she's lost and alone, in the middle of Cologne. And somehow, she's got to get back to Afroasia, without drawing too much attention to herself...

And when you look like an amazon, and dress like one, there's almost no hope for you there...


	21. Chapter 21

The President of Afroasia is lost in Cologne, North Rhine-Westphalia. And the neighborhoods are getting scarier and scarier...

The dusk is getting darker and darker. If Madame President doesn't find refuge soon...

Too late. She's been found...by a neo-Nazi gang. Like wolves, they surround her. They've got big arms, with swastikas tattooed on some of them...

"Looky here, _Jungen_," their apparent leader says, drawing a Luger pistol. "It's not every day that our lowly kind get to assassinate a Jewish president!"

Ms. Ophir wouldn't want her subjects to know that she was terrified. But since it probably won't matter in a few days, Ms. Ophir feels free to scream, and act, like a little girl who's about to get raped...

This is soon rendered unnecessary, as her unexpected saviors arrive, and fight the gang. They're local hip-hop Turkish-Germans. Some of them (if you can believe it) fight with scimitars. At this, Ms. Ophir wonders how many of her saviors are Crimean Tatars...

She doesn't see many such haircuts... Crap; she had SO much faith in Cologne...

Trying to stay low-profile, Elias Bek creeps in, and tries to lead her to safety. Because he's white, she mistakes him for one of the neo-Nazis, and beats the shit out of him. She used to be in the Afroasian Defense Force. Hence, it doesn't horrify her when she overpowers Bek as easily as she does...

Within moments, the Turks have beaten the neo-Nazis. They scatter, and vanish.

The Turks attend to Ms. Ophir. A few more attend to Elias, snickering.

They open their place to her, of course. They put on some hip hop music, to commemorate the occasion.

Some Turkish fly girls show up, and dance for Afroasia's president. Elias mans the bar, and watches them. He's never stopped loving those fly girls. If only they'd look his way...

His view is soon blocked, by Ms. Ophir's rack. Not recognizing him as the boy she just beat up, despite the scars she's left on him, she orders a pair of authentic North Rhine-Westphalian boilermakers...like the kind she can't find anywhere in Addis Ababa, no matter where she looks...

Elias sighs, and makes them for her. He takes one, and starts to dump the shot of whiskey in the...

She takes it from him, and dumps it herself. Taking both beer mugs by the handles, she drinks them at the same time, alternating them. Elias scoffs. He'd expect an amazon to guzzle each one in the time it takes for a Grand Prix pit crew to change all four tires on a racecar...

Once she's drunk, she dances with several Turkish-German males, on stage. Elias sighs, cleans glasses, and watches.

On the upside, at least he gets to stare down the fly girls' racks, while serving them their cocktails. They rush him, and tell him how his cocktails are never sufficient enough to make a girl drunk...

Later, the bar needs more liquor. So, Elias goes down into storage, and fetches some...

About the same time, Ms. Ophir needs to attend the ladies' room. She stumbles into storage, thinking she's found it...

She falls down the stairs. Elias hears it, and attends to her.

She stands, and stumbles. "I'm okay," she insists, shaking Elias away. "I'm okay. I'm a fucking amazon. I'll be fine." She takes a step forward with her two left feet, and falls over.

Elias catches her, and puts her...really big bare arm...over his shoulders. "Let me help you upstairs, Frau President."

She giggles. "It's Fraulein President, actually. And danke, Herr..."

"Bek," he tells her. "I'm sorry about what happened to you earlier today. What were you doing out there, anyway? Where were your secret servants?"

She laughs. "If only I could tell you. It's been a long day...and it's a VERY long way back to Afroasia, from here..."

He leads her back into the common area. He tries to return to storage...but she drags him onto the stage...

"Uh," Elias protests, "Fraulein President, I'm just the barkeep here..."

"Well then, Mr. Barkeep," she embraces him, sexually, on the stage. "Let me repay you, for all the FINE boilermakers I've had, by having an authentic bride-and-groom dance with you...just as we do them at Jewish weddings in Afroasia!"

"What?! No, please, I can't..."

Below, all the Turkish-Germans are applauding, and egging them on. The fly girls are giggling to themselves...

"Fine," Elias groans. "Hey, Herr DJ! Play something upbeat! Play something that's made fun of a lot on YouTube, like 'Ice, Ice Baby..."

The DJ scoffs, and puts on a track. With that, the speakers play a Leona Lewis song.

"What," Elias exclaims, "no! I said..."

Ms. Ophir covers his mouth, and shushes him. "Just shut up and dance, German motherfucker!"

Elias isn't sure about this. Nonetheless, he surrenders to the woman's embrace, and slow-dances with her...all night long...

Below, the Turkish-Germans seem to enjoy what they see. The fly girls try to look away...but can't seem to...

Elias and Ms. Ophir slow-dance to several songs; Mary J. Blige, Ashanti, Keri Hilson, Alicia Keys, Kelly Rowland, Beyoncé, Jennifer Hudson, Tamar Braxton, Ciara, and Melanie Fiona are all on tonight's playlist...at varying frequencies... It's amazing, how many Houston R&B chicks find their way into Turkish-German music markets...

By the end of the night, the Turkish-Germans have given Elias and Ms. Ophir a room. And whether Elias would believe it or not, he's being fucked by the most powerful person in Afroasia...or rather, the most powerful person FROM Afroasia…

Elias feels like he's at a bullriding rodeo...only the bull's riding him, rather than the other way around, and it's riding his midriff, rather than his back... It's just as well; as small as he is, he'd be shocked if any girl, Turkish-German or pure German, told him he had a bull-like hump in his back...let alone a cat-like hump...

Elias knows Ms. Ophir's drunk. He knows she won't remember him, when the morning comes. And he knows this'll all end sooner than he wants it to. But for now, he savors each moment...because before long, there'll be none left for him OR his Turkish-German homies...

Before long, she's snoring in bed with him. He's still awake. Her bare arms are wrapped around him. Her huge rack is pressed up against his back...

He's needed relief since before the sex. He tries to pry her away from him...

She doesn't pry. She's crabby, when she's asleep. He tries again. Still, she's tenacious. He tries harder than ever. She knees him in the ass, and goes back to sleep.

He's still in her arms. God, he hopes he doesn't have to replace this mattress...

Outside, black cars, with flashing blue, white and silver lights, surround the block. Secret servants storm in, and secure the premises.

They burst in on Elias and Ms. Ophir, while the latter sleeps. Elias would hold up his arms in surrender...if only Ms. Ophir's weren't still around them...

As you might expect, the secret servants have no trouble prying the Afroasian president's arms off of Elias. Instead, she wraps them around one of her secret servants. Trying not to stare, three of them haul her out of the room. A few of them stay behind, and take Elias's statement.

Wrapped in a cloak, the Afroasian president is escorted back to her limo; her old one's been replaced rather promptly. That's understandable; Old Germany's always been a big automaker.

Elias watches, from behind a crowd of Turkish-German men, as she's loaded into the limo. They wave flags, and holler praises to her, as her convoy leaves, with her limo in their midst...

Elias sighs, and stays outside for a bit...long after all the other guys have gone back in. He's not sure...but he thinks he's just fallen in love with the one that got away...

Crap; now he can't write his report for his journalism class. If he wrote a report that said he slow-danced with and fucked the Afroasian president in a cheap hip-hop neighborhood, his professor would think he needs psychotherapy...


	22. Chapter 22

For weeks, Elias tries to go back to his old life, as a white boy among hip-hop Turkish-Germans, in a cheap Cologne neighborhood... But sometimes, you just can't go back, after you've been forward...

Elias stops believing it...but he's not the only person who can't move on from what's happened...

At the end of the school term, he finishes his class. Sadly, though, he passes with a C; not ideal enough to major in journalism. Elias has begun to expect this... Nonetheless, it's hard for him to commit to anything...

So, he leaves the campus, and makes his way back to the hood. He'll spend all night telling all of his Turkish-German housemates that he can't become a journalist...

A few moments later, it starts to look like he won't have to. He's shot from behind, by a pair of tranq darts. As he falls over on the sidewalk, a black car speeds up behind him, on the road, and deploys a trio of men in black. They black-bag him...and Elias loses all memory of what happens next.

Now, we move over to the Negev Desert. Once, in ancient times, Moses led the entire nation of Israel across it, from Egypt to Canaan...

(If you can't find Canaan on a map, don't worry about it. Israel isn't what it was...and hasn't been, for most of its history.)

Out here, there's a shack. Only the secret service knows where it is. In a way, it's like Camp David. Alas, Camp David probably has more facilities... But then, nobody can blame it; it's in Maryland. And Maryland is a port state, if the Negev can imagine that...

At long last, the black bag is taken off Elias's head. He's still suffering from jet lag...as well as the drugs they've put in him...

Elias studies the ropes, that keep him bound to this chair. They're golden. And with the sun shining through a window, on them, they appear to glow. This feels familiar...

Alas, his legs are whipped...by a bull whip. He cusses. He's whipped again. He cusses again. He's whipped again. He cusses again...

Ms. Ophir sighs, and tosses the whip. "Forget it," she mutters. "This is starting to feel like the Sister Mary Stigmata scene in _the Blues Brothers_... Besides, I'm not even a committed Jew..."

Elias blinks, and looks around. He sees the gorgeous amazon, who wears the Afroasian president's seal on her shiny belt buckle...but doesn't believe it...

"Frau President?!"

She scoffs. "You haven't changed a bit. It's FRAULEIN president. With luck, Afroasia won't have a First Gent under my rule."

She steps down, and approaches him. She sits on his lap. She highlights her bare legs, and her downblouse. She wraps both of her big bare arms around him, as she did back in Cologne...

"But then, just because I can't have a First Gent," she messes up his blond hair with one hand, "doesn't mean I can't have something that's," she blows in his face, "just as meaningful... Just tell me how eager you are to keep living in Cologne as a native peasant who lives among impoverished Turkish Germans." She pauses. "Not that I'm biased; but then, I'm pretty sure I was almost killed that night, because of many of your kinsmen who are."

"I didn't save you. As a matter of fact, you beat the shit out of me, just as I was about to do my part to aid that cause."

She sighs. "Yes; sorry about that. But even so, I remember all of those WONDERFUL dances we had afterwards. And the sex!" She puts her hand on her chest. "Oh, that was some of the BEST of my existence! And to think," she squeezes his tiny biceps, almost breaking his arms. "You're hardly the kind of man I thought I'd end up with...if I ended up with a man at all!"

"What?! No! You were drunk! You drank forty boilermakers in one night! There's no WAY you could've..."

"I was spec-ops in my country's military, Elias. Not sure how much you know about our military, but our spec-ops has standards. And if we fall beneath them, the higher ups SERIOUSLY begin to consider transferring us to shittier units. And in the ADF, if you're a woman, and not in the amazon units, then you're a virgin, fit to be scapegoated by the male mafia."

"I can imagine." He scoffs. "You might not be Wonder Woman...but you can sure drink like the original. Like that one time Steve Trevor tried to get her drunk, and failed..."

She half-smiles. "I never saw that one. But one thing I do know is that I've missed you, every day, since it happened. I'm a president, and on some days, I can't even make decisions, because of you!"

"That's," Elias tries to hide his empathy, "an unusual sentiment for a president to have..."

She pinches his cheek, and slaps his face. "I need you, Elias. I need to see you more often. I don't expect you to move in with me, but... Just tell me if black-bagging you is the best way to do it. I'd hate to wreck anything precious you've got going for yourself over there, in your precious North Rhine-Westphalia..."

He arches his brows. "Nope. I'm crappy at committing to things. The fly girls in that block often judge me for it, in fact..." He closes his eyes hard, biting his lip. "Right; not the kind of crap you talk about on a," he looks around, "date..."

"We can have a real one, if you want. Or, we can stay covert. Personally, I prefer that. I's nothing personal, it's just... I've got a lot of Muslim and Jewish voters, as well as more than a few black Amharic ones, who are, more or less, racist against Germans. They just," she caresses his shoulder with her finger, "might stop voting for me if, you know..."

"I get it. No, please; I'd LOVE to stay covert. Because it turns out that...I've got a few living biological relatives who probably wouldn't react the right way if they found out I was seeing a Jewish broad...even if she is the fucking Afroasian president."

"Wonderful!" She kisses his cheek. "I'm glad you think so. I know some people who are working on a way where we can be together full-time. If you're up to that..."

"Of course. Cologne never agreed with me, anyway. Take me, Frau President. I'm yours."

"That's FRAULEIN President!"

He sighs. "_Naturlich_."

She takes him into the back bedroom, and fucks him again. Ms. Ophir may never go down in history as one of Afroasia's greatest presidents...but for once, she's sure scored a fine catch...even if he is little more impressive than a figurative sardine...

(And the Jews, at least, can eat sardines; at least THEIR scales are visible via the naked eye... It's the Somalis and Amharics that can't eat fish at all...)


	23. Chapter 23

Ah, the Afroasian capital. Here, the country's president lives the high life...

She lies, apparently alone, in bed, with her NSFWs wrapped in a sheet. She lies on her back, looking up at the ceiling...

Between her fingers, Elias lies. His cock is hard. He's less than a thousandth the size he was when she first met him...unknowingly and knowingly. She so powerful...

"Ms. Ophir," Elias says, stuttering. "I want to watch you be with another man."

She rolls over on her side, and stares down upon him. She grabs him by his ass, moves him to the base of the other pillow, and drops him. She just can't get over how much he stumbles in her presence... And now, with luck, she's going to get to do that to him even more...

"Just out of interest," she asks him, "which man did you have in mind?"

"Preferably a man who's more powerful than you...if there is such a man."

She scoffs. "I'm a president. If there was such a man in Afroasia, he'd be up here instead of me."

He shrugs. "Maybe...he doesn't have to be Afroasian? I'm not, and I'm the one who sleeps between your thighs full-time."

She nods, and looks around. "Yes... Yes, yes, such men just might live outside our borders..."

Weeks later, a private airplane lands in Lincoln City, before an approaching limo. Its roundel is a crescent moon and Star of David...

As she lands, Ms. Ophir stuffs Elias into her breasts. From here, he can survey the action...

"I've got an earpiece in my ear," she reminds him, straightening her silver wreath. "Just message me, if you start to think this is a bad idea."

"Oh no," he writhes between her boobs, stimulating her. "I LOVE how it's going so far."

She chuckles. "I haven't met him yet!"

"Sorry. I just...can't get over you, sometimes...Frau President."

"FRAULEIN President, Elias."

The airplane lowers its ramp. The secret servants rally to it, and protect it, as their amazon attire-clad president descends it.

Downstairs, she meets President Grant II in the middle. From between her boobs, Elias stays low, and beholds the other man...

"I take it," Grant II stammers, "that you're not one of the president's bodyguards."

"I AM," Ms. Ophir tells him, "the president!"

"Of course," Grant II laments, sexually. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Powerful, my ass," Elias whispers to himself. "This guy almost reminds me of me!"

She and Grant II sit way too close together in the limo, with a bodyguard on either side. Elias can tell that Grant II can't stop eying Ms. Ophir's cleavage...

"Where were you," Ms. Ophir asks Grant II, "at my bat mitzvah?! I spent the whole night, after it ended, wanting to fuck a boy!" She points at him. "You should've been there!"

Elias shivers. He knows Ms. Ophir is supposed to stay in character; but that was a bit too much...

"Trust me," Grant II assures her, "I wish I was."

Ah, well, Elias thinks; maybe not THAT much too much...


	24. Chapter 24

In a pub just south of Lincoln City, Ms. Ophir humiliates President Grant II in a drinking contest. From Ms. Ophir's boobs, still under a thousandth his normal size, Elias Bek watches.

Elias gapes up, as his domina downs dozens of boilermakers. He still can't believe she's not getting drunk...

At long last, Grant II drinks one round too many, and falls over. He'll be out for a while...

Here, Ms. Ophir seizes the opportunity. She pulls Elias from her boobs, and dunks him in her current boilermaker. As she squeezes him and keeps him submerged, he drinks the sacred beer and whiskey of the NAU homeland. He knows he can't tolerate liquor like his domina can...

Nearby, a press camera tries to close on, on what Ms. Ophir's submerging in her beer... She notices him, clenches her fist, and shatters the camera's lens with a single punch.

The cameraman surveys his now-totaled camera, and chuckles. "You could've just waved your hand, if you didn't want me to record you."

"Waving is for cheerleaders with hollow skulls," Ms. Ophir sneers. "I'm a fucking amazon."

Soon, Grant II and Ms. Ophir are singing karaoke duets. And Elias is back between his domina's boobs.

Elias is feeling the envy, now. His domina couldn't be playing her part in the cuckhold fantasy better...and neither could Grant II...

As the song ends, the crowd hollers, cheering. On stage, Grant II and Ms. Ophir bow excessively. At least Elias won't fall out of his domina's low-cut. Her boobs are squeezed too tightly together...

After this, Grant II and Ms. Ophir sing one last duet together. This one's a bit more romantic than the others.

On the dance floor, some people even dance to it. It's hard for a lot of rural folk to disrespect Ray Wylie Hubbard's "Drunken Poet's Dream..."

Within Ms. Ophir's low-cut, Elias's boobs swell. On the downside, Elias starts to run out of room to move or breathe. On the upside, his cuckold fantasy is that much more enriched. Especially when Grant II touches her bare shoulder, with his presidential hand...

It's quite the classical moment...for Elias. For the bar crowd, they're just relieved that their president, and Afroasia's, are just ordinary humans, and not gods, as a lot of Grant II's conservative voters would rather believe...

When it ends, Ms. Ophir tells Grant II she needs to use the ladies' room. She does...

She lowers her panties, and sits on the pot. She pulls Elias out of her low-cut, and leaves him on the nail of her index finger. To him, it's like a tennis court. In moments like these, he feels SO out of the Afroasian president's league...

"How am I doing, Elias?" She flaps her hair. "Could I do better? Am I doing too well?"

"It's perfect," he tells her, "really. I just wish this could go on for longer."

"Yeah, me too. Grant II's so manly, and this is fun." She stops, and thinks. "I think I might know of a way we can prolong this."

"You're in command, my domina. Wherever you go, I will freeload."

"Of course," she acknowledges. "I wouldn't consider you my whore if you weren't such a bad boy."

"My Turkish-German homies didn't think I was... But I am SO glad that you do, Frau President."

"It's FRAULEIN President." Someone hammers on the ladies' room door. She grins, and stuffs him back into her boobs. "Time to get more physical," she whispers, as she wipes her own ass.

Back in the pub, Ms. Ophir's reunited with Grant II. He offers to take her to Camp Ibrahim...

"Show me your place," Ms. Ophir hiccups/whispers, seductively. "I'm sure it's grand."

Grant II hiccups. "You've no idea," he blinks his bloodshot eyes, "Madame President."

Grant II's staring down her blouse. He's staring right at where Elias is, stuffed between her hooters...and yet, for the most part, Grant II doesn't see him...


	25. Chapter 25

Grant II takes Ophir to the Grey House, while the First Lady isn't home. Still hiding between Ophir's breasts, Elias still plays both voyeur and cuckold...

It's a long limo ride there. Here, Ophir tries to stay subtle, and texts her secret servants; many are her amazon buddies, from her days in the Afroasian Defense Force. She isn't sure if she can trust them...but she's about to find out.

Politely, Grant II looks away from her smartphone, as she communicates on it. As the president, he must encourage private post; it's a federal crime, after all, to trespass that privacy...

I know what you're thinking; Ophir isn't a North American. Alas, she is on North American soil; hence, the federation's laws still apply here...and I DON'T mean the Ethiopian federation's. Or the Somali's. Or the Iraqi's. Or the Sudanese's. Or the South Sudanese's.

The limo arrives. Grant II helps Ophir out of the limo. From between her breasts, Elias watches. He scoots around, between these enormous sacks of yellow fat, and lets his hard cock elongate...

One by one, Ophir's servants send devious signals to Ophir's smartphone, as she and Grant II are crossing the Grey House lawn. Ophir pretends to adjust her top, while really assuring her precious Elias, in her own subtle way, that everything's going to be alright, rock-a-bye...

On the Grey House lawn, elephants drink and bathe. They don't seem to acknowledge the foreigner on their master's land. It's just as well. Elephants have bad eyesight; but then, every leftist in North America knows that.

High above the Grey House, the federation's flag flies as it's expected to; at full-mast, and right side up. It probably won't fly so by the end of the day...

Grant II takes Ophir inside. She stands before the elephantfish tank, and admires Grant II's chiefs of staff...

In the background, two of the elephantfish listen to her thoughts. They can hear her comparing them to similar specimens that she's seen in Amharic aquariums.

AMHARA, Cyrus scoffs. WHAT DO THEY HAVE THAT WE DON'T?

WE'LL BE LUCKY IF SHE DOESN'T TAP THE GLASS, Novak mutters, telepathically.

Together, they listen. Her thoughts aren't the only ones they hear...

SHE'S NOT ALONE, Novak complains. BUT SHE LOOKS ALONE. WHAT THE FUCK IS UP?

MAYBE, Cyrus suggests, SHE'S GOT A SECRET SERVANT TRYING OUT A NEW KIND OF ADAPTIVE CAMOUFLAGE?

They listen more closely. The thoughts are there, but hardly decipherable...

I'M GETTING LEFTIST VIBES, Cyrus admits. I THINK WE SHOULD STOP.

WAIT. Novak listens more closely. HE'S THINKING THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE HERE, AND THAT HE DIDN'T COME ALL THE WAY FROM THE HOODS OF NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA IN A JEWISH GODDESS'S RACK JUST TO WATCH FISH AS IF HE WERE A DUMMKOPF CHILD AT A DAMN AQUARIUM.

Cyrus shakes his head. WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

Novak shrugs. THAT'S JUST WHAT I HEAR. I AM, BY NO MEANS, DEFENDING ITS SANITY...OR THE SANITY OF WHOEVER'S THINKING IT.

GOOD, Cyrus admits. JUST WHAT WE NEED; ONE MORE REMINDER AS TO WHY THE N.A.F. NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, ANNEXES FOREIGN LANDS...ESPEICALLY NOT AFROASIA OR NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA. Cyrus hesitates. WHY DID I JUST SAY SOMETHING ABOUT NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA?!

IT'S...JUST SOMETHING THE TINY VOICE IS THINKING...

ENOUGH OF THAT, Cyrus demands. NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA IS IN EUROPE. I'M ALSO PRETTY SURE THEY'RE RACIST AGAINST AFROASIANS OVER THERE...

MORE GERMANS THAN FUCKING BERLIN, Novak admits. I'D SURE SAY SO.

"These are so interesting," Ophir gawks. "What are they?"

Grant II moves the furniture around the Oval Office. "They're Beene's elephantfishes. They're all male...and gay. They're also telepathic." He looks around. "So don't get scared if you hear voices."

"Oh, I'll try not to," Ophir says, smiling. She fixes her hair. "I'd be the shame of my country's military, if I was afraid of anything."

Ambruso is closest to the tank's glass. Courteously, he breaks his tankmates' common silence. THAT'S FUNNY, he thinks, catching her off-guard. RIGHT NOW, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'D PEE IN YOUR LEOTARD IF AN ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS MEETING THREATENED TO DOOM YOU TO A LIFE IN THERAPY.

Ophir screams, and leaps back. She bounces off the wall behind her, and falls forward...

Inside Ophir's boobs, the floor rushes up at Elias. He knows it'll be a cushioned fall...but he tenses up, anyway...

Grant II swoops in, and catches her, helping her up. She's in his arms.

Ah; here, Elias relaxes. At last, his sexual experience has resumed its quality...

"Thank you," Ophir says, caressing some of Grant II's hair. "That was scary."

"Anything," Grant II says, panting, "for my country's special guests."

AH, STRAIGHT MEN, Ambruso complains. WHAT DO THEY SEE IN THESE WOMEN?

I DON'T KNOW, Cyrus thinks. BUT I'VE SEEN ONE DO CRAZY THINGS BECAUSE OF IT.

Novak's eyes are narrowed. THERE'S AN UNUSUAL BALANCE IN HER SEXUALITY, THAT SHOULDN'T BE THERE, IF SHE'S STRAIGHT. IT SEEMS TO BE COMING FROM THOSE TINY THOUGHTS COMING FROM HER RACK...

LET IT GO, NOVAK, Cyrus begs. AFROASIANS ARE JUST ANOTHER ALIEN SPECIES WE'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO GET. AND IF WE EVER DO, WE'D COMMIT A SIN THAT'S WORSE THAN ADULTERY.

WHAT ABOUT A SIN WORSE THAN DISHONORING A FATHER? Ambruso trades looks, between the other two elephantfish. OR THE SIN OF PUTTING OURSELVES, AS GODS, BEFORE AN INCUMBENT? ARE WE, OURSELVES, NOT ABOUT TO COMMIT THOSE NUMBERS?

I KNOW IT'S HARD TO SORT OUT RIGHT NOW, Cyrus admits. BUT FOR NOW, LET'S JUST TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT. He looks around. IF WE THINK ABOUT IT, WE MIGHT ACCIDENTALLY SHARE IT WITH THE WRONG PEOPLE...

In another room, a secret servant has been tied up, by an amazon. He, for one, has overheard part of the elephantfish's plan...

"We should sit," Ophir suggests, back outside the glass, "and talk about our countries' affairs."

"We should," Grant II agrees. "But not over liquor...whatever we do."

Novak chuckles. LOOKS LIKE THOSE AREN'T THE ONLY AFFAIRS THEY'VE GOT TO DISCUSS...

Darkly and subtly, the other elephantfish linger in the shadows, and laugh evilly...

Ophir shields her eyes. It seems a window's open that shouldn't be. "The sunlight's really bright out there," she tells Grant II. Can you help an old woman out?"

"Of course." Grant II yells for his pages. He yells again. They don't come.

In rooms throughout the Grey House, his pages, while still bound, struggle and thrash. But Afroasian amazons are no bimbos, when it comes to confining captives...

"Fine," Grant II grumbles. "For one of THE rarest moments in Grey House history, I'll accommodate for the Afroasian president's retinas myself."

Grant II crosses the room, and approaches the windows. He gets to work, closing their curtains...

In the tank, Ambruso subtly stops generating arcs of electricity between his fins, and swims to the back of the tank. There, he hears peculiar noises...

WE'RE NOT ALONE, he tells the other fish. THEY'RE INSIDE AND OUTSIDE THE WALLS. THEY'RE HUMAN, AND FEMININE. THEY'VE JUST HUMILIATED A BUNCH OF MEN.

STRAIGHT MEN, I'M SURE, Ambruso reminds him. BUT SHOULD WE BE CONCERNED?

WHO ARE THE MEN THEY HUMILIATED? Cyrus turns, and looks at Ambruso. CAN YOU AT LEAST DECIPHER THAT?

Outside, Ophir sits, and checks her nails. She wants them to look feminine, and dominating, for the next time she needs to have a word with...

"Ms. President," an earpiece says to her, in her ear, "your great moment is up, in ten, nine, eight, seven..."

With that, Ophir sticks her finger into her rack, and stuffs Elias deeper, where he'll be safe. She stands, screams, and charges Grant II, as he prepares the window to her liking...

Grant II freezes, like a deer in headlights. Behind him, outside the window, an RPG flies right at his head...

Far away, also outside the window, and from a concealed location, an Afroasian amazon aims a still-smoking RPG rifle. She stands tall, atop an eagle statue, and anticipates the boom...

Ophir jumps on Fitz, and pins him to the floor. Above them, the RPG flies through the window, shatters it, travels into the center of the room, and explodes there.

Still between Ophir's boobs, Elias sighs, and moves his feet around. His toes have made contact with something strange. It's cold...a lot colder than anything else in here. Whatever it is, he can certainly tell it's not of her...

Gradually, he turns himself upside down, and surveys it more, with his hands. When he figures out what it is, he nearly vomits, and crawls back into Ophir's bust.

It's Grant II's nose. Somehow, it's wedged itself a lot deeper into Ophir's chest than he would've expected...

Outside the Grey House, the other amazons send their president a message, confirming the RPG's firing. Ophir gets it, in her earpiece, but can only nod; if she told Grant II the truth now, she'd get in BIG trouble.

Plus, she knows her precious Elias wants to see more action. If anything, she's just bought the show more time.

Right on cue, the First Lady gets home. Mrs. Grant walks right into the parlor...and sees the mess.

"High, Mel," Grant II says, with a boobs-muffled voice. "How are threads stores in Lincoln City these days?"

Mrs. Grant doesn't move. She's in a catatonic state.

Outside, the amazons scatter. Inside, they free the captured secret servants, and knock them out, to buy themselves some time. With it, they extract. No one sees them, and no one stops them.

Much later, the secret servants come to, rush into the Oval Office, and analyze the damage. Outside, federal agents and a local fire truck have arrived.

After a lengthy process, Grant II and Ophir get relocated, with an armed escort, to a classified fort somewhere in the North American wilderness. Mrs. Grant, by contrast, gets sent to a hospital.

On the news, Aaron O'Reilly reports the disaster. He somehow, for some strange reason his watchers can't seem to figure out, he doesn't laugh as much while describing the First Lady's latest condition...

As one of the secret servants wanders through the Grey House, he stops, and studies the elephantfish tank...but not for long. He knows they can read his thoughts...and if it turns out that they really are plotting terrorists...

And yet, he only heard them think a few words. For all he knows or cares, they could be kidding...or talking about something else. For now, he gives them the benefit of the doubt. But for the time being, he'd better make sure he gets assigned to the president's detail at the secret fort, as often as Mr. President can afford to have him there...

In the present day, Elias finishes telling Liv his story. Now, they're both sitting on the rim of the foot hole of Grant II's slipper. Above, Grant II still sleeps. It's still dark outside...but getting brighter, with the wee moments of dawn.

"Since then, Domina's done all she can to protect me," he tells Liv. "Once sense, Grant II almost ate me, thinking I was a bowl of stew up for grabs. Other than that, it's been a very secure stay here. I'm only not including Domina's more passionate advances because I should be used to them by now...if I'm not already."

Liv scoffs. If she's gotten used to being in her lingerie around a North Rhine-Westphalian she didn't know until tonight, or seeing the same in just briefs, Elias can't tell...

"If I were big," Liv tells him, "I'd take you on as a client, and find some way to clean up your mess for you. Except I can't, for at least two reasons. The first is that I'm too small to do my job. The second is that you and your sexual game have put my husband...uh, LOVER, in peril at least once. And I feel like I owe you judgment for that."

Elias glances down into the foot hole's depths. Around them, it's like a crater.

"You did kick my ass down there," he reminds her. "Also, I take ass-kickings from a woman five times a day; yours wouldn't communicate your intended message."

Liv sighs. "Fine. Consider us even. Just...don't take it personally if I ever have to do it again if Fitz ever gets hurt because of this."

"I understand. I'd do the same to you if you ever hurt my Domina."

Liv arches her brows, and studies him. "Somehow, I think Kaw-Liga is more likely to win the heart of the Choctaw maid."

Elias sighs. "I used to live among hip-hopping Turkish-Germans, need I not remind you!"

"Lived with, yes. But didn't you say that you often felt like their hood's weakest link?"

From behind them, thunder approaches. Elias almost rushes to protect Liv...

From above, a spotlight shines. It looks around, until it spotlights Liv and Elias.

Moments pass. Elias smells the air. "It's Domina," he whispers. "I can smell her."

This is an awkward moment. Ophir should be more thankful they can't see her face.

"Hi," her voice thunders down upon Liv. "I...I can see you've met my Elias."

"_Es tut mir leid_, Domina," Elias begs. "I found her down here, and she whooped my ass."

"Fear not, my Elias." From behind, Ophir caresses Elias's tiny back with her finger. Elias yelps when he feels her finger. "She is African. I believe you."

Liv shivers. "Given my circumstances," she says, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"What's going on?"

Impulsively, Ophir shines the flashlight in Grant II's eyes, as the latter wakes. He swears, and shades his eyes, as she does...

If the situation was too awkward before, it just got unbearable. But for the sake of sparing you the repetitive monotony of the details, let's move on to what happens next...


	26. Chapter 26

As you might know, Liv wasn't always this kind of bitch. Once, she was a university student. She studied her shit, and dreamed of big strong men with deep pockets, just as any other black girl would. And every now and then, she was assigned to a professor so macabre, he'd distract her from the best of her dreams.

Meet Professor Beene. He teaches biology...and then some. Or rather, he did. It's been a while since Liv checked in...

One day, in class, there was a tank of water. Inside, a strange fish swam around. It had the nose of an elephant. Professor Beene claimed to have named an entire species after himself.

"It's native to the EAF," he tells his class. "A few men before me experimented on them. None got the results that I have. But then, of course," he giggles, "some of my predecessors made the embarrassing mistake of letting some silly epiphany, that marriage and family are more important than progress, end their careers prematurely."

Near Liv's desk, a girl yawns. Liv knows her...better than she wants to. She's the teacher's pet in her philosophy class. Liv's destined to have one of those in a few months. She is NOT anticipating it...

"Allow me to go off-track, for a moment," Professor Beene begins. "I've studied this species in the wild, as well as in captivity. And this species has something in common with humanity, as we know it today. The straight specimens of their species seem to think lowly of the gay ones."

All around, the class laughs. One of the students in the back row leaves.

"The male specimens, who are straight, grow to be big and strong. The females flock to him, in the mating season."

At this, Liv grins at the thought.

"They all love the straight males, in this species. They promote them to alphas of the schools. And this species does school. But don't worry; you can't expect this specimen to commit suicide anytime soon. He's got a hidden trick up his sleeve...which we'll get to later."

Inside Liv's head, a scary voice scoffs. HE SAYS THAT, a gruff voice says, in her head, AS IF HE THINKS WE'VE GOT one TRICK UP OUR SLEEVES...

Around Liv, a lot of other students turn around, back and forth in their chairs...as if they've just had the same voice in their heads...

"They hunt in packs," Professor Beene continues. "The gay specimens are usually kept in reserve. Now, some of the male cliques have LBFs; but within this species, this is a new thing. Plus, it doesn't always work out. Sometimes the cliques rape their LBFs, further undermining the school's gay/straight alliance. In some cases, they've been known to cannibalize their LBFs after raping them...but this is rare. Either way, the gay males never ASK to be kept in reserve. But it's only fair, considering that some cichlids in the lakes of the EAF are more dangerous than humans can realize."

One of the male students scoffs. "Probably because humans don't know what it's like to be an elephantfish."

The class laughs. Inside the tank, the fish doesn't seem amused...

Liv smiles. And she thought that men had no empathy...

"I never knew most of my precursors," Professor Beene laments. "But they did leave behind research. I've never seen this for myself, but a few of them have seen a strange phenomenon that occurs, among the species. It defies not only the laws of dominance in biology, but also the laws of gay cliques, in general."

For this, most of the class leans forward. Liv listens, but prefers to laugh at her male counterparts' misadventures...as their sister in philandry, if not their straight critic.

"It turns out the gay male specimens of this species are VERY sensitive," the professor begins. "A lot of straight women might understand that, being their sisters in philandry, and all...but even for gay male specimens, what often follows, when they're scapegoated, is one of the most inhumane things observed in nature. I'm pretty sure that if Darwin himself ever observed it, it would make him a stronger atheist than he already was..."

Liv's disturbed. It seems strange, that the professor is using the phrase "sisters in philandry" so soon after she's just thought it to herself...

She looks at the elephantfish, in the tank. The fish seems to be looking at her...with malevolent eyes, for some reason...


	27. Chapter 27

Once again, it's midnight in Lincoln City. The Grey House has slept in better peace...but at least only local straightfolk are dying...and not to mention a few straight foreigners, as well...

In the fish tank, all three of the gay male elephantfish sleep. Or rather, they tread water. Naturally, their swim bladders never stop moving. They're all wearing their virtual reality masks, as usual...

In them, they're hunting cichlids in Lake Tanganyika. There are not straight male, straight female, or lesbian elephantfish in sight. This is a gay male hunt. Cyrus, Novak, and Ambruso are the chickenhawks…and before dawn, they WILL apprehend their chicken cichlid trophies...

Okay, fine; there's a SGBF (straight girl best friend) in sight. But she's there for ornamental purposes ONLY...

Back in reality, Cyrus sleeps in the upper part of the tank. Novak sleeps about mid-depth. Ambruso, the newcomer, sleeps near the bottom. He's really loving the American life...even if it means breaking the law, and committing over a dozen federal offenses, while the law is out on a wild goose chase, looking for an assassin who doesn't exist...

They'd laugh out loud, if the law caught one of those Afroasian amazons, thinking she was the culprit... But then, Ophir would probably have her bailed out in no time, assuming that the law didn't have to arrest her with a body bag. Amazons can be so aggressive, sometimes. It's a mystery, as to whether most of them are lesbians...

These three elephantfish wouldn't know...or care. They're gay, but they love men; lesbians don't.

Slowly beating his fins, Ambruso slumbers. He really loves this hunt. He swims near a shore, where there are Muslim settlers. Some of them are Turkic, and...

In a flash, Ambruso removes his helmet telepathically, eyes gaping. He's just had a revolutionary epiphany.

THAT LITTLE VOICE, he tells himself, THAT WAS COMING FROM OPHIR'S RACK EARLIER... He blinks. IT HAD A TOUCH OF TURKISH ACCENT.

With that, he puts back on his helmet, and goes back to sleep. In virtual reality, he keeps hunting cichlids...

Ugh; he's having a hard time getting to sleep. His mind drifts out, to where the President is hiding. Grant II finds his own scent revolting, if any gay man can believe that. Also, there seems to be a strange feminine voice coming from some of his socks, that sure as hell isn't lice...

Again, Ambruso removes his helmet, eyes gaping. He thinks he just might have it figured out, this time...

THERE'S A SIMILAR VOICE COMING FROM GRANT II'S CLOTHES. IT'S FEMININE, A BIT AFRICAN, AND SOUNDS LIKE OLIVIA POPE. SHE'S AS SMALL AS THAT VOICE INSIDE OPHIR'S BOOBS, WHICH MEANS THAT SHE IS THAT SMALL. IF WE CAN GET TO HER, THEN WE CAN USE HER AS LEVERAGE AGAINST GRANT II, AND PERHAPPS BUY US SOME MORE TIME IN THE GREY HOUSE, WHERE WE'LL BE TREATED LIKE ROYALS, DESPITE BEING GAY, AND LIVING IN A COUNTRY WHERE BOTH MONARCHISM AND AUTOCRACY ARE PREVENTED BY CONSTITUTIONAL LAW!

In a flash, Ambruso swims up to Novak's and Cyrus's levels. He dives into their subconscious, to wake them.

When he does, he almost screams, like a Wilhelm scream in a Hitchcock movie, when he sees what they're hunting. They've found Michael B. Jordan, in the buff, and basking in the middle of Lake Tanganyika, under the hot EAF sun...

Both elephantfish scream, take off their helmets, and reprimand Ambruso. Ambruso doesn't think he'll EVER get that out of his mind...

CRYING SHAME, Novak laments. ONE OF THE BEST SEX MOODS I'VE EVER BEEN IN...

Cyrus growls, and glares at Ambruso. THIS'D BETTER BE GOOD...


	28. Chapter 28

This is Fitz's carryon. He's re-packed it many times, since he's been here.

Inside, he's got lots of socks. He's washed them at least three times, since he's been here.

Within the threads of a pair of Fitz's socks, Liv makes out with her new commonly-sized friend, Elias. This...hasn't happened as much since Fitz has been here.

"Which is ironic," Liv sneers, with her pearly-whites bared. "We've both been here, all this time. And seriously, we both thought your presidential amazon was hitting on my man!"

"Technically," Elias reminds her, "I was here the whole time, and you fell through a portal into Mr. Grant II's slipper, a few weeks in..."

Liv slaps him on both sides of his face, shoves him down, and mounts his midriff. "Shut up, and do as you're told, you degenerate German!"

Liv's on top. Elias is on bottom. She's having a ball. Elias is a bit frightened.

Liv drags her long nails down Elias's bare chest. Elias humps his chest, as he does so.

"Wow," he compliments her. "Do you...ever do this to Grant II...when his First Lady's not around, I mean?"

"No," Liv sneers, biting the frail North Rhine-Westphalian on the neck, causing him to yelp. "Fitz is big, and strong, and powerful, and destined to lead a federation of over sixty states!" She squeezes his waist, with her bare ebony thighs. "You're just a tiny little German bug!" She takes his head in her hands, and pounds it against Fitz's sock threads, many times. "I can do whatever I want to with you!" She knocks her head against his. "Your precious amazon goddess will be none the wiser!"

"I'M a bug?!" Elias gapes up at her. "Look who's talking!"

"Aw," she punches him in the nose with the palm of her hand. "Shut up, and let me fuck you!"

She smothers his nose in her own rack. Elias feels like he's drowning.

"Don't kill me, _bitte_," Elias begs. "I don't know this for a fact, but I think my Domina will miss me!"

"Oh, she oughta!" She pulls some of his blond hair out, causing him to yelp. "She kept you hidden, in this fort, for weeks! She fucked you, behind Fitz's back. And seriously, my Fitz thought the whole time," she grabs a pair of loose threads, in Fitz's sock, "that your precious kosher amazon president was trying to get into his heffalump-patterned briefs!"

Like the opening scene of Basic Instinct, Liv uses the two threads she's grabbed to tie both of Elias's wrists. Elias whimpers, like a little North Rhine-Westphalian girl, as Liv consumes him with her passion.

"Ah," she sneers, "you're going to make me cramp, or strain something!"

"_Richtig?!_ Well, how do you think I feel?!"

She punches him in the nose...with her fist. She takes up another thread in Fitz's sock, and blindfolds him. Now, this is REALLY starting to feel like _Basic Instinct_...

"You are aware," Elias whimpers, "that in _Basic Instinct_, Sharon Stone never kills Michael Douglas..._richtig?!_"

"Oh, _ja-ja_," Liv briefly mimics her sexual prey, "I SO remember! I just didn't know, at the time, that Michael Douglas would go on to become Ant-Man, of all gods, great kings, and heroes!"

"Yeah," Elias mutters. "I'm sure none of us did."

In the chaos of the fucking, Elias's blindfold slips. And suddenly, he sees Liv, mounting him, almost bare-bodied...with a knife raised.

Like a girl, Elias screams, and begs not to be slain in President Grant II's socks...

Liv stops, and takes a break. Between heavy breaths, she bites off a piece of the knife, and sucks on it.

Elias gapes up at her, midriff between her powerful thighs, and gapes, confounded.

"Mm," Liv comments, savoring her treat. "Rock candy."

Still tied up in President Grant II's sock threads, and mounted by his ebony mistress, Elias swoons. "These amazons are going to kill me," he whines.

Liv giggles, and keeps sucking her knife/rock candy. She's flattered, that Elias would describe her as an amazon. She thought she was just a white president's black slave girl, serving and worshiping him, behind his wife's back, as if Davis won the war..."


	29. Chapter 29

Restless, Fitz paces back and forth, in the main facility of the fort. All of this chaos is still a bit much for him to grasp...and to think that he's a president, and is supposed to be used to that sort of shit.

At least Eisenhower and Reagan never actually had to authorize a nuclear attack, in the midst of any chaos that did nearly consume their careers...even if Reagan was almost assassinated...

Ophir sits in an armchair, clad in amazon attire, seemingly nervous. Fitz keeps marching past her, as he paces...

"I'm really sorry about this, President Grant," she admits. "I didn't mean for it to get this out-of-hand."

Fitz smiles, and scoffs. "Yes you did."

She smiles, and sighs. "Yes I did."

"It's okay," Fitz admits. "Lucky for you, I now know what it's like to have a secret lover. It's also an assurance for us, at least, to know that two rival federations have something in common in their respective administrators' mansions, if not their populations. Even so, you're not why I'm restless. And neither is your Elias...as jealous of him as I should be."

Ophir smiles, and flaps her hair. "Really?"

"PLEASE don't tempt me. This is NOT a good time for me to think about sex. My career is at stake. I need something to tell the press when I come out of hiding. And I can't stay here if I'm not in any actual danger. If I have to tell the press the truth, then I'll go down in the history of the NAU's right-wing administrators as the Boy Who Ran from the Witches of Oz Who Cried Wolf."

Ophir arches her brows. "THAT'S a first. But it's actually not that bad..."

Fitz whirls, and gives her a stern look.

"But," she admits, "it also sounds like something that you're highly unlikely to find in a history book about NAU presidents."

Fitz keeps pacing.

"Look," Ophir adds, "if you want me to, I can ask my Sisterhood to come up with a cover story..."

"Thanks," Fitz tells her, cutting her off. "No offense, though, but you're not NAU. And most of my voters are VERY patriotic...and a bit racist. Most of them don't even seem to care that your race wrote part of the Bible."

"Of course. I know what that's like. Most Israelis are conservative, too." She pauses. "I'm not. I'm from Tel-Aviv." She loosens her amazon blouse, and smiles, kinkily. "NOBODY'S conservative, there..."

"Ah, well," Fitz smirks, "thanks for telling me that now."

Ophir sighs. "Sorry. It's just...not the kind of info that leads to a second date, if I disclose it on the first one."

"I thought you said you were from Tel-Aviv."

She scoffs. "We're foreign, not alien. Talking about politics over there is dangerous, too. In fact, it might actually be more dangerous over there than it is here. Here, they just do it with red and blue signs, and marches. Over there, they do it with rifles, and tanks, and..."

"My wife watches the news, in case you've forgotten."

She scoffs. "How could I forget? I'm so sorry you have to put up with Aaron O'Reilly every morning, before you go to work."

"Me too. At least this stay at this fort has given me a break from that, if nothing else. I should probably watch it, but... I sure miss Bill O'Reilly."

"Yeah, a lot of PMs over in Afroasia like him, too. It's as if they can't even tell he's not Hebrew...or Jewish. They even like Glenn Beck."

Fitz keeps pacing. "We need a cover story, and fast. Or rather, I need a cover story. At this stage, I'm honestly shocked that you and your sisterhood, or whatever you call yourselves, haven't gone back to Afroasia, now that you and your little man's erotic adventures won't be half as steamy when I know what you're up to."

"I'm partly responsible for this crisis. My sisterhood and I won't leave until it's resolved."

Fitz scoffs. "You know, it's funny. This is the kind of problem Liv always solves. And now my Liv is just as impotent as your Elias."

Ophir half-smiles. "I can't say I know your Liv very well, President Grant II. But one thing that I have sensed is that, small or normal-sized, she is NO weakling."


	30. Chapter 30

Once again, it's nighttime at the fort. O, how President Grant II longs for his own bed, at the Grey House...

In Fitz's suitcase, Liv sleeps...still under a thousandth her normal size. Also at that size, Elias crawls up next to her, and lies there. He looks around. He sure hopes President Grant II doesn't have any mites in his socks he hasn't told Liv about...

"I still think we should've crashed in Domina's bras," he whispers, looking around. "Something about this creeps me out."

Eyes closed, Liv smiles, and pats Elias on the bare upper arm. "Is this how you and Ophir pillow-talk, when she's paying attention to you?"

"_Nein._ I just have a bad feeling. That's all."

"Elias?"

"_Ja?_"

Liv yawns. "I've had boyfriends who were less paranoid than you."

"_Ja, ja_, I'm aware of the concept. I've been bullied by it, even. But over the course of my life, I've noticed something. Whenever I've a bad feeling about something, I'm right. Your dominus, President Grant II, has left the Grey House in the less-than-capable of hands of a trio of gay elephantfish. I know they're his chiefs of staff, and that gay men are not known for their militarism, but..."

With that, Liv snores. Elias sighs.

"So," Elias mutters, "no sex tonight?"

Outside the carryon and high above, Fitz lies in his bed, on his back. He stares, blankly, up at the painting of teenage Abraham Lincoln, slaying that hideous vampire. Weeks here, and he STILL hasn't gotten used to it. O, the people who need to stay here, who'd rather go to sleep, and then wake, to that image...

It's facilities like this that cause Fitz to miss the days of pinup chicks...as much as his own Christian parents used to hate them...

Ophir slips in, in a pink negligee. She approaches Fitz's bedside, in baby steps...

"Do it," Fitz orders, without moving his eyes or head. "I'm sick of dreading...and I'm sick of staying loyal to women at the same time."

Ophir smiles, and takes off the negligee, from below her waist, to over her arms. Beneath, she wears a white bra...with red Stars of David on the cups.

Fitz arches his brows, and smiles. "You're bold...as much as I'm supposed to hate red on an Israeli flag."

She shrugs. "What can I say? I'm an amazon, bitch."

She happily crawls across the bed, and mounts Fitz's midriff. She shields the Abe Lincoln-Vampire Slayer painting from his sight. Down here, all he can see is the Afroasian president's hooters. And they are VERY nice hooters...

She caresses his hair, and smiles down upon him. She bends over, and kisses his forehead.

"Is this," Fitz asks, smiling, "really the best you can do?"

"I'm a woman," she insists. "Unlike men, I don't have to abuse the opposite sex, just because I'm stronger."

Fitz scoffs. "So, you think I'm weak, too. My wife does too. And while she never tells me, I'm pretty sure Liv thinks I am too."

"I don't think your Liv thinks that anymore. She's down there, with my Elias, worshipping you like a god." She bends over, and kisses him on the lips. "Just as my Elias still thinks I'm a goddess."

"He's lucky to have you. NEVER squash him like a bug...if your critics find out about him."

She chuckles. "They'd probably lose their credibility overnight." She caresses his biceps, with her hands. As an amazon, Fitz would expect them to be more calloused... "But don't you dare worry about my Elias. I wouldn't speak of squashing him like a bug...as mean as I was to him when we first met."

"He probably gawked at you then, too."

"Don't know; wasn't watching. I was a bit more concerned about those racist Germans who would've assassinated me, if his Turkish-German gang hadn't shown up when they did." She smothers his face in her rack. "SUCH a terrible way to get assassinated. I sure hope none of your predecessors have suffered the shame."

Fitz shrugs, with his eyes buried in Ms. Ophir's rack. "Lincoln was shot in an opera house box...in the head. The guy wasn't Turkish, but he was a bit of a rogue; he was killed when they burned down a barn. Garfield was shot in a train station. It took him several months to die; getting shot there in the 19th century has a mortal disadvantage. McKinley was shot by an anarchist, when he shook hands with him. His shooting hand was bandaged, and he used the bandage as a Trojan horse for the pistol. Even so, none of my predecessors are female. And Turks don't seem to prefer the NAU, for some reason..."

"I'm sure they were shot on their own home soil, too. I was nearly killed in North Rhine-Westphalia...which is virtually Jewish hell, to anyone who knows how many Holocaust camps there were there, back in the day."

"No, none of my predecessors were assassinated in...the Valley of the Shadow of Death. They were all just on lower ground than the Grey House."

Ms. Ophir kisses Fitz on the mouth, again. Fitz likes.

"You are SO much funner than my wife," he admits. "If I wasn't in love with Liv, I'd consider settling for you."

She giggles. "Don't bet on it. I'm a leftist. Plus, your voters hate Afroasians."

Throughout the night, things heat up. Ophir's shadow dances on the wall, as she gets more active while working on Fitz...

The hours pass. Outside the fort, a cold wind blows. Wolves howl.

Inside, the zipper of Fitz's carryon zips shut...by itself.

Still in Grant II's sock, Elias starts to wake. He reaches over, for Liv, and...

She's not there. He probes around more, but she's nowhere to be felt. Concerned, pulls a light out of his briefs, and shines it around. Liv's nowhere to be seen.

Panicking, Elias presses a device in his ear. "Domina, I don't know if you're awake, and I wouldn't blame you if you're not, but I think President Grant II would like to know that his mistress has probably been abducted." He looks around. "And I think I might know a trio of telepathic elephantfish who might be responsible..."

Up in the bed, Ophir wakes. "Sorry, dove," she says, into her own earpiece. "Did you say something?"

Elias sighs, and starts to repeat his alarm.


	31. Chapter 31

Liv wakes...but not in Fitz's sock, as she anticipates. She anticipates Elias a bit less...but she'd be lying, if she said he wasn't great in bed.

She's inside a glass dome. Outside it, gravel surrounds her. To her, the pebbles are as big as boulders. Beyond, she thinks she can even see part of the Oval Office...

SHE WAKES, a scary voice says, inside her head.

Liv screams, and looks around. "Who said that?! Who's there?!"

WHICH ONE WILL IT BE, another asks. OR, DO WE DO IT TOGETHER?

Liv looks around, terrified. She can't see anyone, but she can hear them...

WE'LL DO IT TOGETHER, a third voice says.

Liv gapes. "I know that voice," she says. "I've heard it before..."

High above her, a trio of huge fish, bigger than whale sharks to her, approach her. They've long, flexible noses. Every now and then, electric arcs connect certain parts of their bodies. They've all got pink tags linked to one of their pectoral fins...

LIV POPE, the familiar of the three voices says, in Liv's head. WE MEET AGAIN.

Liv gapes, and shakes her head. "Professor Beene?!"

CLOSE...BUT NO HUMAN. AS YOU MIGHT RECALL, THERE WAS A FISH IN A TANK, DURING A FEW OF YOUR CLASSES WITH HIM. He twitches his elephantine proboscis. REMEMBER ME?

"The fish," Liv repeats. She looks around. "You can all talk?!"

TELEPATHY, Novak reminds her. BIG DIFFERENCE.

I AM CYRUS, the familiar voice says. THESE ARE MY GAY PARTNERS, NOVAK AND AMBRUSO. NO NEED TO STRESS, MS. POPE; WE ARE NOT HERE TO HARM YOU. JUST TO HOLD YOU FOR RANSOM."

"Ransom?!" She looks around. "You're going to ransom Fitz? Why? I'm worth nothing to him!"

DON'T TRY TO RUN A BLUFF, SWEETS. IT'S USELESS. REMEMBER: WE CAN READ YOUR MIND.

Liv sighs. "So...you know about my affair with him."

They nod, all three.

Liv looks around. She's in a slave bikini. She wears chains, too.

"If you're all gay," she asks, "why bother eroticizing me?"

IT MAKES OUR JOB MORE EXCITING. EVEN SO, YOU'RE PROBABLY WONDERING WHAT WE EXPECT FROM MR. PRESIDENT, IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR RETURN. WE WANT THE GREY HOUSE.

Liv looks up at them. "Are you crazy?! You three can't be president! This is the NAU, you can't just assassinate the president and succeed him!"

WE ARE AWARE. AND WE WILL CROSS EACH RELEVANT BRIDGE WHEN WE GET TO IT. BUT FOR THE TIME BEING, WE NEED TO KEEP YOUR PIMP OUT OF HERE. AND WE ARE CERTAIN, BEYOND A SHADOW OF A DOUBT, THAT HE WILL GIVE US WHAT WE WANT, EXACTLY AS WE SPECIFY IT, IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR SAFE RETURN INTO HIS PANTS...OR WHEREVER HE PREFERS YOU.

Liv breathes heavily. "You won't get away with this."

YES...THERE'S A CHANCE WE'LL FAIL. BUT THEN, THAT'S WHERE WE'VE THOUGHT TO IMPROVISE INSURANCE."

Liv looks up at the three of them, paranoid. "Insurance?"

Cyrus sighs, telepathically. DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN WE TOLD YOU THAT WE DON'T PLAN TO HURT YOU? WELL...THERE'S JUST ONE TINY THING ABOUT THAT PROMISE THAT WE MIGHT OR MIGHT NOT DELIVER, DEPENDING ON HOW YOUR PIMP COOPERATES WITH OUR RANSOM DEMAND...

If Liv's spot was tight before, it's even tighter now...and not just because this is where the elephantfish keep their popcorn cichlids, while they're watching hockey games... At least they were courteous enough to drain it, before locking her up in here...


	32. Chapter 32

In her hospital room, Mellie still sits, petrified. She just can't seem to get her subconscious around her husband cheating on her with TWO women, let alone the Afroasian president...

Aaron O'Reilly sits with her, holding her hand. He strokes it. He's dressed and re-dressed her many times, while trying to awaken her with sex. The First Lady may never wake...

On a computer nearby, Aaron connects to the Internet. He logs onto Pandora, and switches the channel to K-Pop Girl Groups.

Before Mellie, he dances to a medley of K-Pop classics. He strips, as he does so. He doubts that this'll work any better than most other things everyone's tried... But he's in love with the First Lady; he WON'T abandon her, even if her husband will.

Still, Mellie sits like a statue. She's still as catatonic as ever...

On her hand, one of her small fingers twitches. Aaron doesn't see it; he's losing control, dancing.

He keeps dancing. He feels like generating two replicas of himself, and using them as fly girls, like in an hip hop music video... If only he were black... (Mellie's rather glad he's not...even if the Vietnamese did kill some of her fathers and brothers.)

Her eyelids twitch. She might very well be coming around...

In country music circles, this'd be a good place to put on Vince Gill's "Whenever You Come Around." Alas, most K-Pop girl groups don't likely know who Vince Gill is, or the name of the awards show he hosted for many years, before Brooks & Dunn picked up his slack, and then Brad & Carrie after that...

Aaron keeps dancing. He's got NO idea what he's doing to the ultra-conservative First Lady...

She blinks. "Aaron," she wheezes, inaudibly.

He keeps dancing. He doesn't even acknowledge her, when she stands, and reaches out both arms towards her.

"Aaron," she says, more audibly, "are you my angel?"

At last, Aaron faces her. He screams, and bounces off the door, once he sees she's back.

"Where's Fitz?"

Aaron shrugs. "I've talked to the nurses. He hasn't been here since...it happened."

She runs to him, embraces him, and leans her head against his chest. He reacts, of course, as if a goddess was doing the same.

"O Aaron, I missed you. I don't remember shit, but..." She raises her head. "What day is it? How long have I been catatonic?"

From the vents in the walls, gas is generated. As Aaron stammers to answer the First Lady's most recent questions, the gas floods the room.

Aaron's need to answer her question is soon eliminated, when Mellie swoons. Like a bimbo, Aaron accidentally knocks himself out when he dives into the gas to try to save her.

A mind-controlled security guard stands watch outside the room, as it's gassed from the inside. Nurses wander right on by, without noticing a green cloud through the glass.


	33. Chapter 33

Fitz is even more restless than before. And for that, he paces around the main facility of the fort even faster.

All over again, Ms. Ophir sits in the same chair. She watches Fitz pace, and feels even worse before.

"I'm sorry," she tells him. "I didn't mean to get your Liv kidnapped. How did they even get in?"

"Cyrus," Fitz spats.

"Excuse me?"

"Those elephantfish I tried to introduce you to, when I brought you to the Grey House. They're my chiefs of staff. I didn't think they were telekinetic before, but now I'm pretty sure they are. And that's just assuming that's their ONLY power they haven't told me about..."

"Wait, how do you know it was them?"

"They talked to me...last night, in a dream. They told me what they want. They want to live in the Grey House forever...with me outside it, at all times. In exchange, they'll free Liz...or so they've told me."

Ophir shudders. "The more you talk about your chiefs of staff, the more they creep me out. I can see, though, why you'd want them as your chiefs of staff..."

"There were better men for the job. But some fool once convinced me that the chief of staff doesn't have to be a _man_; just someone intimidating enough to chase loiterers off the Grey House lawn, if the need ever arose. I just didn't realize, at the time, that cichlids weren't the only ones who elephantfish pose a threat to."

"You can't blame yourself. You didn't know this would happen."

He keeps pacing. She keeps sitting, and fidgeting.

"What are they going to do," she asks, "if you don't give them what they want?"

"In order to do that, I'd have to set foot on the Grey House lawn...or otherwise announce my intent to do so. Anyway, they didn't tell me. They just told me that I didn't want to know."

She arches her brows. "I've sure heard that before."

"And now, it seems I've been challenged with a three-front war. I'm sure I'm not the first right-wing president of the NAU who has, but... On one front, I have no idea how I'm going to leave this fort, or explain the alleged assassination attempt on me without coming out as a doofus. On the second front, Liv's being held for ransom, and I've got no idea where she is, or how to free her, or even how to discipline my own chiefs of staff for kidnapping her...if that's even my responsibility. And on the third front, and I just found this out this morning, my wife's been reported missing."

Ms. Ophir looked up. "Are...you going to look for her?"

He shrugs. "My voters expect me to say yes. But you know me; I love Liv. If only I could make her my priority without looking suspicious in front of my voters."

She arches her brows, and nods. "That's a dilemma, alright. Wish I could help."

Fitz keeps pacing, at the same pace. He feels like going crazy...

He passes Dr. Ghurani, standing in an archway, in a robe. Fitz acknowledges him, does an about-face, and keeps pacing...

Fitz hesitates...but only for a moment. He whirls, pulls a pistol, and empties the mag.

Dr. Ghurani smiles, holds up his arm, and stops the bullets, in midair. He lowers his arm; the bullets fall to the floor.

Ms. Ophir stands, and puts her fists up.

"Calm down," Dr. Ghurani beseeches. "I'm not here for that. Also, need I not remind you that I DIDN'T try to kill you?"

"How could I forget? I suffered the torture of watching Aaron O'Reilly report it on _Good Morning, Right Wingers!_."

Ghurani chuckles...but frowns, when he acknowledges his old enemy's and captive's stare.

"How," Fitz sneers, "did you get in here? I've got security all over the place."

"Have you forgotten? I'm a magus. I'm a master of the Allahforce. But of course, you're a conservative bureaucrat from Bakersfield; as far as you and your voters are concerned, Allah is evil, and long may he be that way. It's as if you can't even tell that our Allah and your Jehovah are the same god."

"I already have enough trouble, as president," Fitz sneers, "debating with the left-wing crowd here, Doctor. Now, I don't know if you heard, but the assassination attempt that you were accused of making against me turned out to be a phony..."

"I already know all about it. One of her sisters briefed me about it," he points at Ophir, "when I hexed her with a truth-telling spell."

Ophir relaxes her fists, humiliated.

"I'm here to tell you," Ghurani continues, "that I've patched that up for you. Thanks to me, and my very icy divorce from my wife, since I caught her cheating on me, sometime after I released you from that POW facility after that war ended for us...your people are now under the hopeless impression that my ex-wife was the one who tried to kill you."

Fitz gapes. So does Ophir. They trade looks. Ghurani's expression isn't faltering.

"That...would be SO nice," Fitz says, still gaping, "if you were telling the truth."

"Perhaps, a little contact with the outside world," he casts a spell, turning the nearest TV on, "would convince you that my word is worth more than it was the first time we met?"

The TV comes on, expressing the show Good Morning, Right Wingers!. Bill O'Reilly is reporting, from the station.

Fitz arches his brows, and scoffs. "And they all thought Aaron's sire didn't have the ego to be on that show! What happened to him, BTW?"

Ghurani chuckles. "I'm surprised you don't know. He was reported missing about five minutes after your wife was, if I'm not mistaken."

Fitz arches his brows. "Oh... I wonder how I missed that..."

"If anyone has any information about my half-Vietnamese bastard son," Bill announces, "who reports on the show, as much as I usually forbid him to do it in our little sire-bastard talks on the home front...PLEASE report it. As much as I hate him, I still love his mother. She's a Vietnamese angel if I ever saw one, and I'm doing this for HER; NOT for him. I know that makes me look like a heinous ice king, but what can I say? I may be a conservative, but I am only human...rather like all the rest of us...Christian, Islam, atheist, and K-Pop man."

Ophir scoffs, and files her nails. "He thinks that just because he's reporting on a degenerate show, means he can say anything he wants. And the conservative men back at home think he's SO wise..."

"Anyway, enough of this horrible crucible. We now turn to Meghan Kelly, who has the very steamy and juicy story of how the President's ex-captor in Iran tried to kill him, as revenge for not meeting her sexual demands, behind her powerful husband's back, during the war. Meghan?"

Meghan Kelly appears on the screen, smiling. "Thank you, Bill, it's always nice to have you on the show...even if your reports are usually a bit more...refined. Anyway, enough of that. They say that a woman's jealousy is made of..."

"Mute," Fitz commands the TV. It mutes itself.

Fitz sighs, and faces Ghurani. "So...I take it that you know what your ex-wife used to do to me, back in camp?"

"I've only recently found out...but yes."

"And...has she done this for me willingly, or because you forced her to, with your magic?"

"She's a magus too, in case you forgot. I didn't find that out until AFTER our divorce, but... She heard about the trouble I got in with your country's navy, and she got to thinking about how she wasn't completely honest with me, at our divorce hearings, about how many times she'd cheated on me before that. She didn't want to see me get executed by one of my ex-captives from the war...even if I was her ex. Plus, she's always had a kinky sex fantasy of going to one of your country's prisons for your attempted murder."

Fitz arches his brows. "Well...remembering her sex-wrath, I can sure understand that."

"She might be a bitch, but she has a sense of justice. Also, she was rather let down, when your navy let me go. She would've rather known that you would've executed her, just for being a suspect in your attempted assassination...if she were the culprit, I mean."

"Well, I'm honored. I should find a way to repay her..."

"Don't bother. She's greedy. The last thing she needs is payment of any kind. Besides, she's a witch; she's not going to spend all of her jail time in jail. Heck, there's an even bigger chance that she'll spend NONE of it in jail, and spend her nights bathing in Macy's merchandise, in New York City, while an illusion of her, back at the prison, keeps the guards from sounding the alarm and reporting her escape."

Fitz smiles, and shakes his head. "You magi really betwitch me sometimes... And I DON'T mean that literally."

Ophir snickers.

"Well, Mr. President, I'd love to stay and chat, but..."

"Wait," Fitz stops him, just as he's about to teleport away. "Maybe you can help me."

He chuckles. "Don't you usually have Ms. Pope for that?"

Fitz stares at him.

Ghurani shrugs. "I might or might not have been following your political career, out of a sense of regret. And even more often so now, because I was almost framed for your attempted assassination."

Ophir waves, from the sidelines. "Sorry about that," she whispers.

Ghurani shrugs. "It's all good. I'm single again. I can get tortured by amazons all I want, now."

"What about the Allahforce?"

"Don't be absurd. There's no such thing as Allah. I get my powers from another dimension, rather like every other magus."

"Oh, well... Thanks for using that propaganda to torture me, when I was a POW."

"Uh... Did you say you needed help?"

"Yeah, you mentioned Liv. She's the reason I need you. And depending on how my luck turns out from here, my wife might be, too."

"And Aaron O'Reilly?"

"Leave him for dead if you have to...but don't do it for me."

"Of course. What sort of trouble has the great and famous Olivia Pope gotten so deep into, that it'll take more than her skill to sweet-talk her way out of?"

Fitz and Ophir trade looks. Then, Fitz starts at the beginning, and fills his old enemy in...


	34. Chapter 34

This is Lincoln City. More grey clouds seem to hover over it, these days...

Down Kentucky Avenue, the Grey House sits. It's about to undergo a VERY revolutionary transformation...or, so it seems...

Over one minute abomination at a time (gay men say), an illusory pink wave passes over the city, apparently transforming it. All of its gay male residents are reinvented as fierce-looking warriors. All of its straight male and lesbian residents are reinvented as white-robed scapegoats, with targets painted on their backs...literally.

Submachine guns appear in the new warriors' hands. They smile, sight a white-robed target, aim, and let her loose...with a pair of submachine guns. Their targets are shattered to pieces...apparently.

The pink wave passes over, and around, the Lincoln Memorial. Lincoln's statue is re-sculpted, to where he's wearing a gay scarf.

One of the local churches is transformed, by the pink wave, into a statue of Jonathan, son of King Saul of Israel. He, too, is sculpted with a gay scarf...despite the fact that the ancient Jews probably never needed scarfs, as hot as the Levant was even then.

Beneath Jonathan's feet, there's an engraving. It reads, THE ROYAL KOSHER CHICKENHAWK, WHO SHOULD'VE BEEN KING OF ISRAEL...

Over the pinkening sky, a huge African fish eagle-shaped fire passes. It's the African Fish Eagle Force (the Fish Eagle Force, for short), a new and mighty defender of the New Lincoln City.

Throughout the streets, a flock of vulturine guineafowl assemble an army. They're all cocks; gay cocks. They're here to worship the Fish Eagle Force. They're also here to do their civic duty to the all-new gay-male-ruled Lincoln City, the reborn capital of the NAU.

In swarms, they peck the legs of the Whiterobes. The Whiterobes try to shake them away...but in vain. The guineafowl cocks only peck harder. Some let loose with a deafening scream.

Some of the Whiterobes fall over. They guineafowl cocks dogpile atop them, and go to work pecking them, as if they thought they were all woodpeckers...or fleshpeckers, rather...

Over yonder, on Kentucky Avenue, the Grey House becomes the High Pink Castle. A pink wave of illusory matter passes over it. It grows many stories, and stands tall...atop a very tall mountain, that wasn't there before. The stonework of the castle is hot pink...as it is that of the great stone wall, that surrounds the High Pink Castle.

On the new NAU flag, there are pink stars, for each "red state" in the NAU. Many fly, from the High Pink Castle.

From the top story of its front, a pink banner rolls down, unfurling itself. The banner is styled like a scarf...when it's rolled out...or down, in this case. It bears a pink Nazi swastika, as well as a Nazi fish eagle, posing over it. (The German Nazis just used a black eagle; but they're gay men, and they're elephantfish. It makes sense, that they prefer sex fantasies where they're fished for by fish eagles...in much the same way that young gay men dream of being hunted by older chickenhawks…)

Inside the fort, the elephants go through transformations, too. They all become heavily-armed and -armored versions of illusion-casting characters from Marvel and DC Comics.

There's Ares, from DC Comics. Aside from his usual spear, shield, and helmet, he commands two painted wolves. And these are painted. In fact, they're dyed hot pink and lavender. (Diemos is the one dyed hot pink.)

Wes Beene, a mutant clad in X-Force attire, marches a patrol. Cable, with his creepy prosthetics and psionic powers, joins him on his patrol. Kid Omega joins this patrol, as do Danielle Moonstar and Emma de Lauro.

Baron Mordo stands atop a battlement, wearing his vaulting boots, and armed with his extendable bo staff in hand. His robe flies behind him, like a flag in the wind.

Vuk, a D'Bari alien disguised as a seductive blonde, wears a long white robe, and hovers over the castle, prepared for anything. She seems to have an attracted eye for the passing Fish Eagle Force, overhead...

Enchantress, from DC Comics, possesses June Moone. She ascends above the wall, and sets up a patrol.

Silver Surfer descends, from the sky, and flies in circles around the fort. He's now one of the gunships of the Castle Guard.

Every now and then, members/tentacles of a red/silver alien symbiote appear, all over Silver Surfer's silver flesh. This is Carnage, who will be arming Carnage Cosmic, as he flies patrols for the Castle Guard.

With one of his prosthetics, Cable opens a portal, from the future. Hobgoblin 2099 cackles, and flies out, atop a high-tech glider. He's armored, and armed with all of the Hobgoblin essentials, including the Hobgoblin performance enhancers: mainly Jack O'lantern bombs, deployed from both his glider, and wrist-mounted grenade launchers.

Inside the castle, Shadow King sits on the throne in lingerie, disguised as Lenny Busker. Busker bears alarming resemblance to Aubrey Plaza. All around her, the main castle court's interior décor is dominated by pinks. In bare feet, Busker helps herself to some pink Chablis.

On the end table at the left hand of the throne, a heart-shaped box of chocolates sits. Busker's already eaten more than half of them. The chocolates' filling is pink, and infused with a supernatural dope.

Near the right hand of the throne, on an end table, fashioned with a tasseled pink cushion, a fez sits. Shadow King will wear this, if he ever has to revert back to Amahl Farouk...

Kurse, a svartálfr warrior from the realm of Svartalfheim, has changed the least from his elephant counterpart. His combat helmet bears tusks; two on either side of the mouth, and three pairs, out from the back of the head. His armor is spiked. He carries a spiked mace, and his harness is fully equipped with black hole-generating grenades. The Kurse Stone, in his armor's chest reactor, glows with pink light.

Scarecrow, with a burlap bag over his head, has finished placing many cylinders of illusion-inducing gas all around the castle grounds. Armed with a pair of sickle swords, he assumes a patrol. From the skies, an air force of crows, grackles, and starlings joins him.

Clad in a fashionable robe, Mastermind stands watch, at the front door of the castle. His two daughters, Mastermind II and Lady Mastermind, stand on the lower steps, standing the same watch.

Scarlet Witch, Mastermind's fellow Brotherhood of Mutants sister and co-founder, stands watch with the three Masterminds. Throughout this defensive, they will be the Hen Coop of Evil Mutants...albeit Mastermind I's a cock.

Does that make Mastermind I the head rooster?

Also with the Hen Coop, Psylocke, Pixie, and Rachel Summers stand the same watch, at the castle front door. Thankfully, the front steps have enough steps for each of them to stand on...

A portal opens, from another dimension, and lets Reverb out. He's armed with goggles and gauntlets, and teleports a patrol around the castle, via more portals.

Among the glass windows, glass décor, and the surface of the mote of the castle, Mirror Master moves here, and there. He surfaces from the mote's surface, breaching, and landing on a draw bridge. He takes a defensive posture, and waits for his moment...

Raven skulks about the castle ground, generating creepy black clouds, as she goes along. She's clad in a black robe. Her eyes are narrow, and pure black. Some of her black fumes shapeshift into wraiths. A gem, wedged inside her forehead, generates pink light...

In a hoverchair, MODOK hovers here and there, looking for a trespasser to kill. He's hideous, and quite infantile...but like everyone else on the Castle Guard, he can cast illusions.

And, there's Mysterio. He's clad in a green suit, a purple cape, and a glass goldfish bowl on his head. There's glowing white gas inside the goldfish bowl, concealing his identity. He flies a patrol here and there, like a glass-headed Superman in a purple cape...

Together, Enchantress, Scarecrow, Raven, Reverb, Ares, and Mirror Master assemble, and become the Castle Guard's Legion of Philandry. Mysterio and Hobgoblin 2099 join, and become the Sinister Partnership. (They don't have enough manpower, after all, to be the Sinister Six.) Baron Mordo, Vuk, Shadow King, Kurse, Carnage Cosmic, and MODOK all assemble, and become the Chickenhawks of Evil.

Near the front gate, three men ascend the wall. They're the consciousnesses of the three elephantfish, impersonating men.

Ambruso takes his place atop the wall, and looks around, over Lincoln City. As a man, he bears the likeness of Matthew del Negro.

Novak takes his place, a bit farther from Ambruso, and stands tall, looking out over Lincoln City. He bears the likeness of Dan Bucatinsky.

Cyrus takes his rightful place between them, as the mastermind of this conspiracy, and the President's head chief of staff, between his two male lovers. For the time being, he bears the likeness of John Boehner.

Ambruso and Novak keep stealing sneaky critical looks at their alpha gay man. Something just isn't right about his appearance.

"No offense, Cyrus," Novak mutters, out of the corner of his mouth, "but don't you think posing as John Boehner is overdoing this?"

Cyrus rolls his eyes, and sighs. "Fine." He blinks, and assumes Jeff Perry's likeness, instead.

All over the city, armies of gay men assemble. Pink flags, with Nazi swastikas, rise all over Lincoln City. The sky is very pink now. But of course, three elephantfish are imagining this...

Ambruso looks behind him, smiling. "We've got the X-Force, the Sinister Six, the Legion of Doom, the Sisterhood of Evil Mutants, and the Masters of Evil defending the High Pink Castle. Who could ask for more?"

Cyrus scoffs. "NEVER ask that, in war..."

"Grant II may be a right-wing man," Novak says, smiling, "but he's no right-winger; in rugby, or otherwise. If he thinks he's ever getting his precious Grey House back, or his lousy administration, then he really DOES have jungle fever, because he sure as hell doesn't have common sense...or enough confidence to make a Roosevelt proud." Silence follows. "Teddy; not Franklin."

"Grant II may be enough of a wimp to make Taft look like Shadow King-Farouk, not Busker," Cyrus sneers, "but don't think that just because he's weak means we're going to let down our guard around this city. In fact," he looks around, "I think it's about time we prepared the main harnessing for our race's most-hated tradition."

Both Novak and Ambruso turn their heads, and gape. Ambruso scratches del Negro's head.

"You can't be serious," Novak protests. "They used to do that to OUR kind! We can't just..."

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," Cyrus insists. "And frankly, it's been a dream of mine to avenge our kind, our sexuality, by serving a straight male president with ice-cold sushi...in the shape of Olivia Pope's cold, dead, tiny body." The fourth wall narrows in, on his sinister expression. "But of course, by the time we're done with this particular slice...it won't be so much a slice, as it will be the federation's most worthless coin."

"This," Ambruso fidgets, "sounds like more than what we've signed up for, boss. I know how tempting it is, to serve our race's worst medicine to straight men, but..."

"ENOUGH!" Above, a storm cloud gets hotter pink, via Cyrus's wrath. "If I say we're going to pancake Olivia Pope, then pancake her we will!"

The cloud rolls past. The other clouds' pink is less hot...albeit no less gay male-passionate.

"Now," Cyrus mutters, "I do believe we talked about building a certain contraption for this custom. Are our assets still on ice?"

"And in the ground," Ambruso says, beaming. "Just like the beer and the pig in Old Bocephus's famous song!"

Novak gives Ambruso a critical look. "No, no, the pig is in the ground, and the beer is on ice. They're not in the same place..."

"I didn't say that," Ambruso insists. "Do I look like an NFL critic to you?"

"No. Just like someone who the leader of the jock clique in high school wouldn't choose for his football team."

"OMG; is that the pot or the kettle I hear talking? And are we black, or pink?"

"Excuse me," Cyrus interrupts. "Liv? The contraption?"

Ambruso and Novak both smile, shakily. "It's already in progress...High Lord Chickenhawk."

"Fish Eagle," Cyrus corrects them. "I much prefer that...as fond as I am of the red-tailed hawk, the Cooper's hawk, and the sharp-shinned hawk... Which reminds me,"

A red-tailed hawk flies past them, through their pleasant gay male-supremacist illusion. Before their eyes, the hawk's tail turns hot pink.

"Are we really not going to leave anything red," Ambruso asks, "in this illusion?"

"The straight man made red famous," Novak sneers. "ALWAYS remember that... _Recordare_, as the Romans would say..."


	35. Chapter 35

Back in the day, Liv was just a cute college student, with presidential ambitions. One day, during one of Professor Beene's lectures, she passed out.

She wakes in a hospital room. A nurse sees she's woken. Hence, she summons Professor Beene, who's been waiting outside, for about fifteen minutes. Liv invites him in.

Professor Beene sits at her bedside, and fills her in, one the part of the lecture she missed, because she fainted.

"It's good to see you're okay, Ms. Pope."

Liv scoffs. "I used to play football with Jewish boys, as a girl. I was nearly blinded in one game. I've had worse."

On the wall, a poster of Ben Grimm/Thing, from Marvel Comics, hangs. It's a collectible, and has been hand-autographed by Kerry Washington... (She drew hearts in the autograph, as she signed it...)

"Good to hear. Anyway, what's the last part of my lecture you remember?"

"You said that the Beene's elephantfish hates the gay specimens within its species, at that the species, throughout history, has come up with a way to persecute its gay that's so horrible, that it would only enhance Charles Darwin's atheism, if he'd ever studied the species like you have."

"Ah yes; we'll start there." He pauses, looks around, and takes a moment to close all the blinds. He leaves the room door ajar, just for relief. With luck, a child won't barge in, and overhear this part...

"So, the straight majority of the Beene's elephantfish is stupendously biased against its gay scapegoats. As time as passed, and as they've hunted cichlids, and allowed the African fish eagle to hunt them...both time and desperation, and voracity as predators, have inspired the species to evolve into avengers. You see, the straight Beene's elephantfish gets its kicks from punishing gay specimens with their own medicine; that is to say, their own fetish. It was never enough, in the species' more primitive years, to dupe the gay specimens into swimming to the surface of Lake Tanganyika, and getting caught by a fish eagle, like a grey-scaled bimbo. That was just too easy. Plus, the Beene's elephantfish is nocturnal in the wild. A gay specimen would've had to have been extremely stupid, and extremely ashamed to not be able to hunt the big fat cichlids with the big boys of their species, for that trick to outlast the species itself.

"So, in the new generations, the straight majority of the species came up with a brand new plan...and for once, it WASN'T planting the seed from Colombia and Mexico up the hollers down Copperhead Road." He hesitates. "That's a Steve Earle reference. You probably wouldn't get it..."

"I did. Anyway, what's funner than duping them into getting caught by a fish eagle, to them?"

"For the gay males, it was very simple. The straight males pretend to take the gay males on an erotic adventure. On it, they hunt the gay males...as if they were going to kill them. It's basically the species' version of BDSM."

Liv blinks; she's just a little college student, after all. "What's that?"

"Yeah, never mind; let me continue. In their society, it's considered a crime to spare their quarry. And hence, in most cases, the hunt becomes violent, and the straight male majority kills and cannibalizes the gay male specimen, as if he were a really big cichlid."

Liv makes a grossed-out face. "That's horrible."

Professor Beene shrugs. "Sadly, a lot of animals still do cannibalism. And the Beene's elephantfish is far from an exception."

"I doubt I can take any more of this, but what do the straight females do to the..." Liv hesitates. "DO they?"

Professor Beene sighs. "THAT'S the part of my lecture that's harder to explain."

"I'll bet I'm going to hate this."

Professor Beene smiles. "Well, with luck, you will never become a lesbian Beene's elephantfish, and with even more luck...no human will ever do to you what straight female Beene's elephantfishes have been known, and still do, do to their lesbians."

"Well THAT'S a relief. I'm not a lesbian. A lot of boys think I'm mean, but... I'm just as much your average damsel in distress as any black girl living in a desolate and forlorn wasteland populated by white wolves, who don't know that Davis didn't win the Civil War..."

Professor Beene scoffs. "I'd think that RED wolves would be more likely to live in Dixie, but yes, I see what you're saying."

And now, we flash-forward back to the present. Up until now, of course, Liv thought that Professor Beene's lecture was just another useless piece of information she'd never have to use in her career...and especially never as President Grant II's personal little fixer...and mistress.

She was wrong. Now, she wakes...but not in a hospital room, this time...or even on a hospital bed.

The floor is made of cast iron, and flat. It's cold, to the touch of Liv's ebony bare skin. And the elephantfish have left her with a lot of that to spare. She still doesn't quite get why they eroticize her, if they don't even love women...

She's still in chains, too. Her prison bikini is white. It usually is, when white boys play with her, this way...

Liv looks around...and gasps, and nearly screams when she sees what's near. It's a white woman's bare ass. To Liv, her cheeks are huge. And her thighs, bless Liv's soul, look mightier than any draw bridge Liv's ever heard of...or been across.

This is the ass of Mellie Grant. The elephantfish have got her restrained...both for sport, and for a higher purpose. If it be their will, Mellie just might become the guillotine that beheads Liv...

Hanging upside down in the corner, Aaron tries, in vain, to get loose. He's surrounded by robotic crane arms. Each one is armed with a torture weapon. Indeed, it seems that Aaron O'Reilly is a half-Charlie in a whole pickle.

All he needs now is to be hanging over a barrel of vinegar, instead of water...

Here, Liv hears Cyrus's voice in her head. She screams, as he speaks to her.

SETTLE DOWN. OR RATHER, SETTLE DOWN, IF YOU CAN, FOR AS LONG AS IT TAKES TO EXPLAIN THIS CONTRAPTION; ONE THAT WILL BE YOUR DOOMSDAY, MS. POPE, IF YOUR PIMP EVER HAS SO MUCH AS A SOLE URGE TO RECLAIM HIS HONOR.

AS YOU CAN SEE, AARON O'REILLY IS IN CHAINS, AND HANGING UPSIDE DOWN. IF AND WHEN PRESIDENT GRANT II CROSSES THE LINES WE'VE ORDERED HIM NOT TO, THE ROBOTIC ARMS WILL GET TO WORK, TORTURING HIM.

THIS, IN TURN, WILL STIMULATE THE M.I.L.F., HERE, WHO YOUNG MR. O'REILLY SEES BEHIND HIS FATHER'S, AND NOT TO MENTION THE ENTIRE COUNTRY'S, BACK. AS A HUMAN, SHE WON'T WISH THIS UPON HER BELOVED M.I.L.F. BAIT. BUT AS A WOMAN, SHE WILL ENJOY WATCHING HIM GET TORMENTED.

Under, Liv, the floor moves. It moves, to where she's hovering between Mellie's great thighs.

IF AND WHEN WE HAVE TO STIMULATE HER WITH MR. O'REILLY'S TORTURE, THE FIRST LADY, HERE, WILL BE TEMPTED TO INDULGE IN A NAUGHTLY LITTLE HABIT, WHEN SHE'S IN SEXUAL BLISS. BELIEVE IT OR NOT, THE FIRST LADY IS THE KIND OF WOMAN WHO LOVES TO CLAP HER THIGHS TOGETHER, WHEN SHE'S IN HEAT. AND WHEN SHE DOES, AND IF WE HAVE TO COMMAND HER TO... WELL, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU HAVE VERY MANY PLEASANT FEELINGS, MS. POPE, ABOUT BEING PANCAKED BY A STRAIGHT WOMAN'S THIGHS, WHEN YOU'RE THE SIZE OF A BUG.

Liv stands, and tries to run. She runs to the edge of the disc-shaped cast iron plate they've got her trapped on, and tries to dive off it.

Her chains stop her fall. She hangs upside down, and helplessly, gaping down at part of Mellie's inner thigh.

Telepathically, Cyrus chuckles. I KNEW YOU'D TRY TO DO THAT, IF I TOLD YOU. HENCE, THE CHAINS.

With that, the cast iron plate moves back to where it was. Liv is in the clear...for now, and for as long as it lasts.

SO JUST SETTLE DOWN, AND TAKE IT EASY WHILE YOU CAN, MS. POPE. I CAN'T PROMISE YOU THAT WE WON'T ACT IN HASTE. BUT I CAN PROMISE THAT EVERY NOW AND THEN, WE'LL RUN A SIM ON THIS CONTRAPTION. AND IF THE PLATE YOU'RE ON HAPPENS TO BE BETWEEN THE FIRST LADY'S THIGHS AT THE WRONG TIME... AS I SAID, ALL NEW TECHNOLOGY HAS ITS GLICHES. CONSIDER YOURSELF A MARTYR FOR PHILANTHROPY, IN CASE YOUR RECENT DEMISE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW NAUGHTY YOUR PIMP BECOMES, FOR AS LONG AS IT TAKES FOR HIM TO ACCEPT OUR VERY FAIR TERMS.

With that, the robotic arms get to torturing Aaron. He thrashes, and cries for help. None comes, of course.

Across the room, Mellie gapes, shivers, and whimpers, as she enjoys watching her MILF bait get tortured. And she claps her thighs together, of course. They sound almost like Tick-Tock, the crocodile, snapping his jaws, as he's chasing Capt. Hook in Disney's animated _Peter Pan_...

As they clap, Mellie's thighs generate wind. If Liv weren't still hanging from the chains from her vain escape attempt, she'd blow right off the cast iron plate. Instead, she bobs back and forth, like a wind chime in a storm.

"If I survive this," Liv mutters, "I will NEVER forgive Fitz for not divorcing Mellie..."


	36. Chapter 36

Throughout the New Lincoln City, straight men are persecuted, as are lesbians. In many cases, they're persecuted to death. Overhead, the pink sky, and its clouds, don't cut the new city any slack. And to think that it's all just an elephantfish-generated illusion...

A lot of the new gay male warriors here are Marvel/DC characters. Most of them are gay men.

Ray flies here and there, generating light as he goes along. He's poised to blind President Grant II, if he ever tries to come back to Lincoln City.

Bron-Char, a Kree warrior with blue skin, flies the _Helion_, his spaceship, here and there, around Lincoln City. He's prepared to dismount, and get to work with his energy gauntlets.

Pink Flash speeds here and there, all over the city. He leaves a lit pink blur in his wake.

Citizen Cold is on patrol, too, with an ice-generating firearm in hand. He's got plenty more, where that comes from.

Every now and then, Ray flies over him. Citizen Cold smiles, and straightens his fur coat, each time this happens...

Here and there, all over the city, rats crawl, and try to keep a low profile. Pied Piper lands near one. The rat scurries. One sonic blast later, and the rat's skull gets busted.

Comanche stands atop a tower, keeping watch. He wears a robe, and carries a bow and arrow. He's prepared to use it, if he sees President Grant II try to make a homecoming...

Obsidian hides, and generates his own hideout. He can control darkness. If President Grant II returns, he won't see Obsidian coming...

In a shop, Cyborg Hephaestus forges a hammer. He's already armed all the gay male armies in this city. Now all he's got to do is arm himself.

He's finished the hammer he's been working on. Now all he's got to do is test it.

Via prosthetic legs made of Uhr metal, Cyborg Hephaestus walks into the open. He swings his new hammer, and throws it. It flies around town, knocking down straight men and lesbians in droves. It returns to Cyborg Hephaestus's hand...just as Mjolnir would to Thor's.

Northstar speeds around town; sometimes on his feet, and sometimes airborne. O, how he sometimes misses Canada. At least he's from Saskatchewan. Cyrus probably wouldn't have recruited him, if he were from some place like Nova Scotia, or Newfoundland and Labrador. Or Quebec; CERTAINLY not, if he was a Quebecker...

Abroad, and among the _Helion_, Alan Scott flies, clad in yellow. He's a Yellow Lantern, now. Every now and then, he shines a light upon his son's darkness, just to check on him. That's right; Scott is Obsidian's father.

And to Obsidian, that's a MUCH bigger relief, than Luke Skywalker finding out that Darth Vader is his father... Although, it's a bit similar to Axel Walker/Trickster II finding out that James Jesse/Trickster is his father...

Negative Man flies abroad, in an F-22. In the cockpit, he's dressed as a mummy...as he usually is.

Every now and then, the negative energy in him leaps out of his corpse, leaving him dead at the yoke. Above, the F-22 precariously glides around, without a pilot, as the negative energy swoops down, and persecutes a lot of straight men and lesbians.

Iceman is just outside the city, building a fort around it. The fort is of ice, of course. The X-Men, bless their souls, probably still haven't forgiven Jean Grey for looking into his head, and discovering he's gay. But as far as Iceman's concerned, he thinks he's getting used to it, now...

William Clayton stalks around, as Mr. Terrific, releasing T-spheres into the air. These T-spheres ascend, and spotlight targets for the other gay male warriors to persecute.

In a street, John Constantine opens a portal. He walks through it, smoking a cigarette, and closes it behind him. He sees a straight man. He reaches his hand towards that man, and tortures him, while trying to "exorcise him of his primitive sexuality..."

Sir Louis, a time-displaced knight from France, drives here and there, in an infantry fighting vehicle. (He's been told that this is what they use now, instead of barded horses.) In his time, he's destined to become Louis XIII of France. But for now, the elephantfish trio needs him.

As the Eden Archer, Keven Dale swings from building to building. He looks a bit like the Green Arrow...only with a lighter green costume. Most of his trick arrows are grenade-tipped.

As the Pink Arrow, Nick Anastas swings from building to building, clad in pink, and armed with a bow and quiver. He used to hate costumed vigilantes; now he loves them.

As he looks around, here and there, he sees one of Clayton's T-spheres, doing reconnaissance. Pink Arrow smiles, and keeps working...

The warriors who defend this city, for Cyrus, are just as likely to be gay and male as they are to be electricity-generating. Elephantfish are, after all...

Static, a metahuman, has gone bad. He dives into the city's power grid, and comes up behind straight men and lesbians, torturing them...and sometimes killing them, if he goes too far.

Static wants a SFBF (straight female best friend)… Alas, that'll have to wait, until Cyrus, or one of his allies, rearranges Grant II's bones into turkey style...

He sometimes clashes with Blackout, another metahuman, who also spends some time down there. So far, at one point, he's accidentally de-powered Pink Flash...

Speaking of whom, a pair of stalls are full, in the bathroom of an Irish pub, just down the road. At its sink, Bobby, a mutant dressed in Alpha Flight attire, washes his hands...after having accidentally traveled here, through this building's power grid, with his powers.

He also shocks himself, as he washes his hands. He cusses, dries his hands, and storms out, needing to rejoin his patrol with NorthStar.

In Bobby's absence, the two stalls empty, simultaneously. Two speedsters come out. One is clad in yellow and red. The other is clad in pink and white. They both bear the likeness of Matt Letscher.

"You got," Reverse-Flash asks Pink Flash, hypnotically, "any lipstick? I'd like to make an impression, if I have to fight for a gay army."

"Sure," Pink Flash says, taking a tube of it out of his gear. "I always keep a few tubes, just in case I..."

Here, both suddenly notice that they're twins. They whirl, and look at one another.

"Wow," they both say, simultaneously. "Are we related?!"

Back in the streets, Lucy Fugue wanders through the city's streets. She dresses like a Goth. She wears metallic lipstick on her lips. Electric arcs dance between her fingers...

She's surrounded by a pack of straight males. They're here to hit on her; she can tell.

She grins, generates metal, and shapes them into spelled words, as she says them. "YOU," she says and forges at the same time, "ARE, SO, FUCKED!" With that, she stabs four of the guys with the metal YOU, the metal ARE, the metal SO, and the metal FUCKED. She uses the SO like a shuriken, and turns the FUCKED into a sword, which she uses to impale the boy with, through his chest. Against the rest, she generates electric arcs, and tortures them with electricity.

Electro, too, dives around in the city's power grid. He breaches, and lands atop Iceman's ice wall, while still made of electricity. Under his feet, part of the ice wall melts.

For fun, Iceman sprays him, from behind, with ice. Sadly, Electro melts the ice as fast as Iceman generates it...

Livewire, a metahuman, dives around in the city's power grid, too. She surfaces, and tortures many ex-boyfriends she's had, while writing stories for CatCo here. She enjoys it. This beats frying Cat Grant's ass, for sure...

Frankly, it's a VERY nice ass; especially when Callista Flockhart flaunts it on the CW. Alas, Livewire is very straight; and hence, is a bit of an SFBF, among this mostly-gay-male posse.

Isis hovers here and there, generating lightning as she goes along. If she seems less enthusiastic than usual, it's because she's just witnessed the Fish Eagle Force destroy her husband, Black Adam. Lincoln City just wasn't big enough for the both of them...

Lincoln Campbell, an Inhuman, has gone rogue. He's just learned how to go diving in the city's power grid.

In this posse, there are gay men. And there are electricity-generating mercs. There are also fish-themed mercs. Elephantfish are fish, after all...

King Shark is among the biggest and strongest. He bares his shark teeth, leaps, dives, and consumes straight men, on the spot...all in the name of three telepathic elephantfish who want to live in the Grey House until they die...

Mr. Fish is here, too, from the East River in New York. In the streets, people avoid him, because of his human/fish physiology. Too bad. Mr. Fish leaps, dives, aims a pair of pistols, and shoots a pair of lesbians, as they run. He slithers in, later, and nicks their purses from their corpses.

Eel's here, too. He crawls around the city, looking for straight men and lesbians to prey on...

Some of these mercs are also of sentimental value to Cyrus, Novak, and/or Ambruso. Many of them bear the likeness of Billy Chambers...a local man, rapist, and killer, now known as the Pink Flash.

There's Maj. Mills, from the _CSI: Crime Scene Investigations_ universe. He's Negative Man's wingman, as he flies an F-35.

A time-displaced Col. Ames, from the American Civil War, is here. He drives around the city, in a Stryker mortar carrier. As much as he misses the cannons of the Civil War, he must confess that these Stryker mortar carriers are MUCH more versatile than those gunpowder rigs, that he's used to using against the grey-coated rebels. O, how he often dreamed of just running a sabre through the first President Grant's chest, in life. NOW, if he's lucky, he'll get to run the same sabre through President Grant II...

Alas, if only he were the Reverse-Flash. He wouldn't need a sabre; he could just super-vibrate his hand, and run it through Fitz's chest...

A time-displaced Capt. Love is here, the 19th century. He drives around in a JLTV; a higher-tech Humvee. He hasn't been in this time for very long, and yet, the back of his vehicle is already overstocked with the bagged heads of lesbians and straight male locals... He's even got some in wine jars, buried beneath the bags...along with some of their finger-amputated hands...

Among the posse, there are also orders of state governors/premiers of Illinois, New York, and Zion, from the peaks of their military careers. The one from Illinois calls itself the Order of Springfield. The one from New York calls itself the Order of Watertown. The one from Zion, whose knights are also of Buenos Aires and New York heritage, calls itself the Order of Zion Bueno.

The Order of Springfield consists of fourteen time-displaced warriors who, later in their careers, become governor of Illinois; Jeff Perry's home state. They're all clad in Illinois rural battledress, and bear an Illinois flag IFF patch on their upper sleeve. They are Green, Ryan, Fifer, Beveridge, Hamilton, Palmer, Tanner, Duncan, Ogilvie, Oglesby, Yates, Bissell, Stratton, and Old Ranger (i.e. Reynolds). All are right-wing political, where and when they come from; otherwise, Cyrus wouldn't have recruited them.

The Order of Watertown consists of eight similar men who, later in their careers, became governor of New York; Dan Bucatinsky's and Matthew del Negro's home state. They're all clad in Adirondack-themed battledress, and bear a New York flag IFF patch on their upper sleeve. They are Morgan, Dix, King, Wilson, Clark, Fish, Fenton, and Teddy Roosevelt. Again, they are all right-wing political, where and when they come from. Otherwise, neither Novak nor Ambruso would've recommended them.

The Order of Zion Bueno consists of seven warriors who're not only time-displaced, but reality-displaced. In their native reality, Buenos Aires is a Jewish colony, and they were premier of there, rather than their precious Israel. They're all clad in urban battledress, and bear an Israeli flag, a Buenos Aires flag, and a New York flag IFF patch on their upper sleeve. They are Sharon, Netanyahu, Weizmann, Begin, Katsav, Rivlin, and Shamir. Matthew del Negro's a Jewish Buenos Airean New Yorker; Ambruso recommended the Order of Zion Bueno's recruitment.

Ah, if only the real Netanyahu could see himself younger, in a Buenos Aires/New York uniform, persecuting straight male and lesbian gentiles in Lincoln City... Yahweh-forbid if he reads this fanfiction, and tries to imagine that. Poor guy; he probably loves Yahweh more than he loves his own wife...if he has one. Frankly, I'd laugh out loud if I found out he was single...or that he married for love, in case he is married...

Among the posse, there are supersoldiers, too. Each one is patriotic-themed.

Citizen Illinois wears a white costume. He carries a round metal shield, which is white, and has a bald eagle symbol in its center. The shield's outer fringe is red. The top of the fringe has the year number 1868 printed on it, and the bottom fringe has 1818 in the same spot. He carries a Springfield rifle, and wears the ammo for it on his harness.

Citizen New York wears a navy blue, sky blue, and yellow costume. He has a round metal shield too, which is navy blue, and has a mountain symbol in its center. The word EXCELSIOR is printed around its bottom fringe; its whole fringe is white. Capt. New York wears red gauntlets.

Commander Buenos Aires is here, too. His costume is white. His round metal shield is the same color, with a Habsburg symbol in the center. He can control gases, and guides his shield in flight, when he throws it like a discus.

Commander Israel is here, too. His costume is also white. His shield is the same color, with a blue Star of David in its center, and a matching blue outer fringe. His harness is stocked with silver bullets.

This roster may seem excessive. But as you can probably tell, Cyrus, Novak, and Ambruso refuse to fail. They refuse to give up the Grey House. They just love not having a boss too damn much... And even worse, so does this posse...


	37. Chapter 37

With a heavy heart, the president mounts a dais, and stands behind a lectern. He's about to give a very inspirational speech to an army that's about to deploy into one of the most dangerous workplaces of their careers; one that just might very well make SEAL Team Six's assassination of Osama bin Laden look like the shootout at the OK Corral...does to a millennial...

"Never in my life," Fitz recites, "has my heart relied more on troops that I command. Never has my own love life been in such a pickle. But more importantly, never has Lincoln City been in a pinker tickle...uh, PICKLE...that it always will be, as long as my chiefs of staff withhold my house from me. They've got both of my hearts in their clutches...and not to mention a half-Vietnamese bastard who I'd SO rather leave for dead.

"I had a dream. I was a colonel in the Union Army. I was about to lead a brigade against an Indian village, camped on the Washita River. One of my sidekicks, an insolent Captain whose face I wish I could forget, tried to convince me that every single red man down there was innocent, in the attacks on our westward-expanding nation. But like a fool, I..."

"Mr. President?"

Ophir stands at the head of the phalanx. Behind her, many ranks and files of Afroasian amazons try to fight off their temptations to yawn in vain.

They're all dressed in black amazon one-pieces, and armed with swords and nunchuks. Their nametags are sewn above their right breasts. Some of their tunics are urban battledress.

"I don't know if you've ever been to Afroasia before, Mr. President," Ophir reminds him, "but Netanyahu usually sends new troops to the Iranian border in less time."

Fitz sighs. "Fine. I now deploy you, in the name of Uncle Sam, the Grey House, and Old Glory. I may just be a lowly Bakersfielder who doesn't deserve to be president any more than an infant deserves to drive a car. But I speak with the ego and the certainty of a president of my country. None of you amazons know what it's like to live here...and none of you ever will, without luck. I can't promise you a full-time career in my military, if you succeed." He chuckles. "Owens and Haggard forbid, you'd probably refuse a commission if I gave any of you one on a silver platter..."

Among the phalanx, some of the amazons are tempted to shrug...

"Off into the shadows, I send you all now. One way or another, Cyrus, Novak, and Ambruso WILL end up in a fish fry. I will not stop until their electricity is safe inside the Lincoln City power grid. I will not stop until all of their accursed bodies are on a charcoal grill, with hot charcoals under them, and one of my human servants is squeezing lemon all over their..."

"GET ON WITH IT," they all shout.

"Right. Now that I think about it, elephantfish DO eat tilapia, in the wild... Something to think about. Anyway, you know your orders. If something looks or feels too good to be true, it is. And if you see an object moving by itself, it's PROBABLY not the wind. And if you hear a voice in your head, that's not Yahweh, and you need to think about something that the enemy finds ludicrous, or your mission WILL fail. Am I clear?"

"SIR, YES SIR!"

"Very well." He stands at attention, and salutes all of them. They do the same, back to him. "TO WAR WITH YOU!"

"AYE SIR!" With that, they all abandon Ophir.

Fitz sighs, lumbers down the dais, and addresses the gorgeous amazon president one last time. He orders her to stand at ease for this; she does.

"Whether you succeed or fail," he tells her, "I can't thank you enough. Liv means a lot to me. I may never divorce Mellie while she's still alive...but I sure as HELL will, if she dies because of Cyrus."

"I understand. You know I feel the same way about my Elias."

Fitz surveys her uniform. "I also need to remind you that while you're in that uniform, fighting battles under my command, you are merely on a temporary assignment. As soon as you and your sisterhood have finished the job I've assigned to you, those uniforms are going off, any weapons we've issued will be recalled, your NAU dog tags will be rendered worthless, and whether by my military's transports or your own, you will return to your respective barracks in Afroasia."

"I understand. I would do your men the same courtesy, if they ever had to fight a battle in my country."

"Thanks; but it's already bad enough that we've had to go to Kuwait twice."

She shrugs. "Kuwait's a good people. It's just...the Iraqi States that don't always behave."

"Trust me. I know." He salutes her. "You're dismissed, Commander Ophir."

She salutes back, and scurries off after her sisterhood.

With that, Fitz joins his old enemy Farshad in a dark hall. He smiles, and leads him downstairs.

"I still can't believe I'm calling you Farshad," Fitz tells him. "I've hated you for so long."

"Well, I can't promise the feeling was mutual. At the time, I really meant to do my duty to my country. It's a sad thing, though. Our races were once related."

"Yeah. I have no idea how THAT got screwed up..."

"One word," Farshad reminds him. "Mohammed."

"Of course. So, what is it I have to know, before you're going to help me storm my staff chiefs' High Pink Castle, as they're calling it now?"

"Several things. You might remember some of them."

Farshad leads Fitz into a room. In a long rank, some familiar faces stand at attention. They wear naval battledress.

In no particular order, they bear the likenesses of Christian Slater, Colm Feore, Forest Whitaker, Frank Langella, James Belushi, Jason Statham, John Gallagher Jr, Liam Neeson, Patrick Swayze, Theo James, Thom Mathews, and Timothy Hutton...

"I know you," Fitz tells them, half-smiling. "We were on some of the same ships, in the navy." He takes a moment, to read all of their nametags...

Farshad clears his throat. "There's...something else, too. You might be less comfy with it."

"Okay. What?"

Farshad leads Fitz into another room, where it's dark. He turns on the lights.

Fitz is a bit alarmed. He knows a lot of these men...and not all of them in a good way.

In no particular order, they bear the likenesses of Brad Pitt, Chris Rock, Christoph Waltz, Desmond Harrington, Gary Oldman, James McAvoy, Jamie Bell, Leo DiCaprio, Michael Chiklis, and Patrick Wilson.

"I," Fitz stammers, "was in the same POW camp as you. You've...changed."

"I'm sorry to swamp you like this," Farshad insists. "But I'd stand the best chance of helping you reclaim the Grey House if you had an army behind you. I don't know you very well, so I've assembled some common acquaintances of ours..."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Fitz assures him. "What...exactly did you have in mind, again?"

"Well... It's going to involve a bit of role-playing...and reinvention...and replication."

"Replication? Of what?"

"Not what." Farshad looks around, and smiles. "WHO."


	38. Chapter 38

With the prejudice of twenty-one pink artillery batteries, Cyrus's army patrols the reinvented Lincoln City. Fitz isn't taking this city from them; let alone his old home...as if the one in Bakersfield that he was raised in was ever broken...

Okay, so...the elephantfish are hypocrites there, being EAF-native. Even so, they HAD to leave their home, to keep from getting killed by the straight male majority in that lake. FITZ left his home because, quite frankly, becoming the mayor of Bakersfield, or what not, just isn't as boon-mongering as becoming the fucking president of the fucking NAU...

OTOH, Cyrus and his pack DID turn the sky pink... But then, how else is society supposed to learn to love gay men, if gay men don't stand up and sing their best music to the world? These three elephantfish are doing in three days what most gay men have been too wussy to do in the past three centuries. Technically, Fitz still has command over the NAUDF...but even so, it's nice for Cyrus and his pack to know that if Fitz orders an airstrike on all the gay men in Lincoln City, and while they all look this good, he WILL lose his bid for reelection in a few years...

Throughout the streets, the patrols are still active. Fitz is nowhere to be seen, of course. But he's out there. Their boss just knows it...

Fitz might not love the Grey House obviously, but he sure loves Olivia Pope. THAT much WON'T keep him away from those ice walls, that Iceman has sprayed up around the city...

In long files, down the streets, the Orders of Springfield, Watertown, and Good Zion are on patrol, in JLTVs; higher-tech Humvees. These vehicles are SO much funner, and not to mention SO much more secure to drive in battle, than those awful holy transports their bosses from their own times/realities made them travel in.

For some, there weren't even any combat vehicles, in the wars they fought in. Some idiot forgot to invent the combat vehicle before their war began, they imagine...

In the middles of the roads, the vulturine guineafowl cocks become more fierce. They feast upon the carrion of the Whiterobes, as if they thought they were vultures...

Overhead, the Fish Eagle Force passes. It hesitates, and looks down upon the carcasses, with narrowed eyes.

The cocks look up, and shrink away from the carcasses...

The Fish Eagle Force smiles, reaches down with its humongous beak, and nips a piece off; a protection fee, for the bagman. The Fish Eagle Force snarfs it down, and moves on, over the city, like that airship in _Aeon Flux_...

Relieved, the guineafowl return to their scavenging. Ah, how they love the smell of a straight man's corpse in the pink-dawned morning. Thanks to their boss, it's now ALWAYS a pink dawn in Lincoln City...

Over the creepy quiet of the city, they hear a noise. The feasting guineafowl stop, and listen. Some raise their plumes. That sounded like...

It SOUNDED like Tony Goldwyn's rendition of Tarzan, making his famous jungle cry. But, how can that be?"

The streets clear, as more and more of Cyrus's forces creep towards the ice wall around the city. They've got a feeling they're about to be called to arms.

Within the Fish Eagle Force, the Eye of Sauron appears, peers over the ice wall, and narrows. In black speech, Sauron/the Fish Eagle Force calls all of Cyrus's forces to arms.

Right on cue, a pair of bull elephants barrel right through the ice, and right into the city. Nobody moves to stop them.

From above, an enemy air force swoops in, and gets to work on tearing down the wall. If Fitz was indeed leading this army, Ronald Reagan would be proud of him...

Fitz has assembled his Marvel and DC characters, too. They're on the front lines of the striking air force.

Dr. Light flies all up and down the ice wall, melting it with her light. She's got quite a bit of it to spare...

Nite Owl II flies in his owl-themed hovercraft, gunning the ice wall down, wherever he must. The windows in that cockpit sure are big...

Ancient One hovers in place, and shatters parts of the wall with her magic. If she weren't bald, she looks like she could be the White Witch, in the _Chronicles of Narnia_...

Ramon Zero appears, clad in a samurai-themed exosuit. He draws katanas, and starts slicing the ice to bits...

Sunfire flies down, and starts melting the ice with his fire. If they asked him, they should've sent HIM to do this, first...

Sam Wheat, as Ghost, descends, and phases through the still-intact parts of the wall, several times, to humiliate the wall's maker. Iceman crosses his arms, and sighs...

From history, Fitz has recruited, and summoned, nine of California's old right-wing governors, who had military careers. The latest ones fly, via winged harnesses, and help out with tearing down the wall. They're Knight, Wilson, Iron Duke, and Ronald Reagan. (Ah; so Reagan IS smiling down upon Fitz, right now. Just...not the version of him who's been president of the NAU...)

A time-displaced Huo Yuanjia descends from the sky, via meditation, and helps Ramon Zero slice up the ice, with his own katanas...

Below them, the grounded part of Fitz's offensive assembles. There sure are a lot of elephants, and heavy tanks...

One of the tanks is manned by Sergeant Joe Gunn. He bears the likeness of a younger James Belushi…

The Order of Statham has manned a whole troop of tanks. Deckard Shaw is just sad they can't charge as fast as the cavalry horse can...or faster. If HE had his way, he'd be doing this with Apache helicopters instead. Around him, fellow Order of Statham members Frank Martin and Handsome Rob seem to agree...

A time-displaced Idi Amin commands the Order of Whitaker. They're a tank troop, too...albeit Amin himself rides a barded elephant. Ghost Dog, Col. Weber, Big Harold, Jody, and Tom both drive tanks, though. Tom's a marine from the _How It Ends_ universe, Jody's from _the Crying Game_ universe, Harold's from the _Platoon_ universe, and Weber's from the _Arrival_ universe; the first might or might not have geology-control powers... Near them, Saw Gerrera has given his tank a few upgrades; interstellar ones, in fact...

Zuri's here, as the Black Panther. Behind him, atop a tank, he summons the rest of the Chaste, as they've come to help Fitz take back the Grey House.

Vanisher's footsteps can be heard, on the surface of a tank. Alas, the mutant's invisible; some of the Chaste are pretty sure he's not really here.

Thing mounts a tank, hammers his own rock-hard chest, and bellows. NO one messes with his blind sculptress of a girlfriend...

Silver Samurai, a Japanese mutant in an exosuit, mounts a tank, and draws a pair of adamantium katanas. This exosuit feels SO much better than a black archer's robe...and also a bit better than a Hand ninja's outfit...

Revanche, a mutant who's been body-swapped with Psylocke, mounts an elephant. She generates purple-lit whips and katanas from her hands, and swipes and lassos them, warming up for the big fight...

Professor X, a mutant, rides an elephant. To him, this is SO much funner than a wheelchair...and yet, a bit less convenient than a hoverchair...

Nomad's shield flies around, above the grounded troops, like a black discus. It returns to its thrower, a supersoldier in a black costume, who flexes his stuff, stands atop a tank, and expects the worst...

Man-Ape mounts one of the elephants, in his white gorilla attire. He's got a spear, and that's not all...

Makoto's in a pair of short shorts, and stands atop an elephant, with a pair of katanas at the ready. With luck, Cyrus has recruited some vampires who need her to slay them...

Ka-Zar's here, aback an elephant. He feels bad about leaving the Savage Land alone for as long as he must...but Professor X, an old friend, recommended him for this job, for a reason that remains to be seen...if it hasn't already been heard...

Amadeus Cho, the Korean nerd, sits aboard an elephant, and anticipates action, excitedly. Ah, if only he handled that Hulk with half the care that his mentor, Bruce Banner, once did...

Fantomex, a mutant Sentinel cyborg, leaps from elephant to elephant, and from tank to tank, showing off his stuff. EVA, his hovering AI robot, follows him around, seemingly a bit annoyed...even if she is a robot...

Deathlok's atop a tank. He's a cyborg, and he's armed and dangerous. He's armed with prosthetic arms, as well as actual, and much more dangerous, ones... He's got a squad of Deathloks behind him...

The Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator is among them, as is a younger Dennett Norton, as RoboCop... As is Marion, a cyborg from the Nemesis universe, whose human parts bear the likeness of Thom Mathews...

Armor, a mutant, rides an elephant, dreading the worst. She's just a little Japanese girl; but Professor X insists she's got potential, so here she is...

Akihiro, the half-Japanese mutant son of Wolverine, is here too. He rides aback an elephant. He would ride on a tank, except everyone's worried he'll draw his adamantium claws, and shred it to shrapnel, out of impulsive rage. He's not the Hulk, but even so, like his father's, his temper seems to have no limit...

The Order of Mathews has only assembled four facets of Fitz's old shipmate; Tommy Jarvis, Marion, a zombified Freddy Hanscom from the _Return of the Living Dead_ universe, and Francis Kelly of the Dirty Dozen. Jarvis is a slasher, and wields a pair of knives, for the occasion.

The Order of Pitt has recruited and fielded eight facets. Besides Vanisher, they're Tristan Ludlow from the _Legends of the Fall_ universe, Sinbad, Rusty Ryan from the _Ocean's Eleven_ universe, Paul Maclean from the _River Runs Through It_ universe, a time-displaced Lt. Raine of the Inglorious Basterds, a time-displaced Louis de Pointe du Lac, John Smith from the _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_ universe, a time-displaced Jesse James, and a time-displaced Achilles. Ludlow and James seem to be getting on quite well...so much, in fact, that they're standing atop the same tank...

The Order of McAvoy has recruited five facets of Fitz's fellow POW captive. Besides Professor X, they're Wesley Gibson from the _Wanted_ universe, Robbo from the _Filth_ universe, Robbie Turner from the _Atonement_ universe, Nicholas Garrigan from _the Last King of Scotland_ universe, and Jade from the _Unbreakable_ universe. Turner is dressed, and prepared, for war. Garrigan rides a blue-painted elephant.

The Order of Oldman has also recruited eleven facets of Fitz's old fellow POW captive. Besides RoboCop, they're Viktor Reznov from the _Call of Duty_ universe, TAU the AI in the body of a synthezoid, Sirius Black, a time-displaced Norman Stansfield, Lord Shen, Jean-Baptiste Emmanuel Zorg from _the Fifth Element_ universe, George Smiley, Igor Korshunov from the _Air Force One_ universe, Drexl Spivey from the _True Romance_ universe, Charlie Strom from the _Sin_ universe, and Carnegie from _the Book of Eli_ universe. Lord Shen is a white peacock atop a tank with a supergun, and Sirius Black is a black dog, who slithers among the tank treads and elephant feet, waiting for his moment... Of them all, Strom seems to be the most excited about being here...

The Order of Statham also includes Terry Leather from _the Bank Job_ universe, Rick Ford from the _Spy_ universe, Agent Crawford from the _War_ universe, Chev Chelios from the _Crank_ universe, and Arthur Bishop from _the Mechanic_ universe. Crawford seems insecure, a sole federal agent among thieves and spies...

The grounded part of the Order of Bakersfield includes California ex-governors Stephens, Pacheco, Markham, Warren, and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Schwarzenegger is in Styrian battledress. Warren's got a 91st Division patch on his shoulder. Markham's drunk on Milwaukee beer...but can still fight.

This myriad, of course, is merely PART of Fitz's offensive. Needless to say, Cyrus's army is starting to feel overwhelmed by it, just by staring at the many tanks and elephants Fitz has scrounged up.

"That's it," Livewire hisses. "He's broken the deal!"

"He hasn't broken the deal," Sir Louis insists, "until they've trespassed the High Pink Castle lawn. They're still a long way from that, as any fool can see."

"Besides," Citizen Illinois insists, "we don't know that's President Grant II's army. There isn't a single warrior in that assembly who so much as LOOKS like Grant II..."

TAU, an AI possessing a synthezoid, rises above the grounded part of Fitz's offensive. He flashes several lights, and messages the Order of Goldwyn to advance, and be recognized by the enemy...

Below, Citizen California, the advance guard, bursts through the front lines of the phalanx. He wears a white costume. He carries a round metal shield that's white, and has a grizzly bear's head symbol in its center; like the Chicago Bears. The shield's outer fringe is red, like the bottom of California's state flag.

Without further ado, the Order of Goldwyn advances to the head of the phalanx. And its assembly is VERY impressive...


	39. Chapter 39

Soon with no need to further question, Cyrus's defenses watch helplessly, as many facets of Fitz march straight to the front lines of his offensive. The resemblance, with some of them, is SO impressive...

For this, Dr. Light shines some angelic light, for special effects. In the background, the Harding University Chorus sings "Was it a Morning Like This," as the Order of Goldwyn assembles at the vanguard of Fitz's offensive:

A portal opens in the sky, from the moon. Neil Armstrong falls through it, and flies around, from beneath a winged harness. He looks SO much like Fitz...

An amphibious tank rolls forward. Harold Nixon, from an alternate reality, stands atop it, armed, and clad in naval battledress. In the reality he's from, he survived the Great Depression, and became a great warrior and sailor in WWII. His brother Dick Milhous, however, DIDN'T survive the Depression. He looks SO much like Fitz...

A time-displaced Warren Jeffs marches forward, aback a mighty elephant. He's dressed like a Mormon sultan...if Mormons had sultans. He looks SO much like Fitz...

A time-displaced Sir Edwin rides forth, atop a tank with a big gun on it. Behind him, he's got a whole armored troop behind him. The tanks bear the roundel of the Virginia militia. He looks SO much like Fitz...

Jody Powell, from an alternate reality, flies on a winged harness, as Armstrong's wingman. In the reality that he's from, he gets away with cheating on that exam at the Air Force Academy, and becomes a top gun in the air. He looks SO much like Fitz...

Judge Baxter, from _the Good Wife_ universe, flies an F-22 around in the sky, prepared to judge whoever he must, during this offensive. Inside the cockpit, he looks SO much like Fitz...

Frank O'Brien, from _the Lesser Evil_ universe, rides forth, standing atop a tank with two guns atop it. He looks SO much like Fitz...

A time-displaced Ed Miller, clad in FBI attire, rides forth, atop a tank. He's pretty sure his time-displaced partner, Agent Felt, is somewhere in this phalanx... But that'll have to wait. Unlike Agent Felt, he looks SO much like Fitz...

A time-displaced Donald Duvall rides in, on the tank with the longest and biggest-bored gun yet. He's pretty sure that Dr. Bull, his colleague, is somewhere in this phalanx...and with a Schwartz MUCH bigger than his, at that... But again, that'll have to wait. Duvall looks SO much like Fitz...

Detective Steve Frayn, from the _Traces of Red_ universe, rides forth, aback a red-painted elephant. He looks SO much like Fitz...

Col. Bagley, from _the Last Samurai_ universe, rides forth, atop a cavalry fighting vehicle. He's armed with a sabre, and a Henry rifle. He's got a Washington Redskins roundel painted on the side of his vehicle...and a very nasty insult spray-painted, in black, over it... He looks SO much like Fitz...

From the sky, Huo Yuanjia levitates down, and lands atop the cavalry fighting vehicle, with Bagley. Bagley acknowledges him with a smile...but at the same time, doesn't seem to secure about this...

At time-displaced Clark Clifford rides forth, aback a Stryker mortar-carrier vehicle towing a howitzer. Behind it, an entire battery of those howitzers follows. They're so big, they'd remind a soul of WWI...if a soul of today recalled WWI... (More power to them, if they don't...) Clifford looks SO much like Fitz...

Andrew Prior, from the _Divergent_ universe, flies around in a high-tech warplane. His son, Four, is somewhere down there... But that'll have to wait. Inside the cockpit, among technology that makes an F-22 look like a biplane, he looks SO much like Fitz...

From behind them all, a very clumsy elephant barrels to the fore, trumpeting as he goes along. It's Tantor, from the Congo. Tarzan, clad in a leather kilt and nothing else, leaps off Tantor's back, stands on a patch of open ground like an ape, stands, hammers his chest, and lets out his famous jungle cry.

It's so loud, it echoes throughout Lincoln City...pink sky or none. Tarzan, too, looks SO much like Fitz...

On the other side of the line, Citizen Illinois gapes. "Yeah," he mutters, "take back what I just said."

"Consider it taken," Myron Clark, of the Order of Watertown, says...also gaping.

Cyrus's defenses watch, now in more terror than before, as other assemblies make themselves known, within Fitz's offensive's ranks.

There's also the grounded part of the Crescent Order. Its airborne parts (i.e. Nite Owl II and Dr. Light) are still airborne, prepared to provide air support, as soon as the sitch demands it...

Katana stands atop a tank, wearing a white mask stamped with a Japanese red sun. She's armed with two katanas; one is the Soultaker, which steals its victims' souls, as it's killing them...

There's Jonah Hex, atop a Stryker reconnaissance vehicle. He's armed with a pair of revolvers, and his face is disfigured.

There's Jake Jensen, a Loser. He stands aback a Stryker communications vehicle. He always knows just what to say, and when to say it...

There's Emiko Adachi, as the Red Arrow, standing atop an elephant's head. She's armed with a red robe, a quiver, and a bow...and she's not afraid to use either.

There's Deathstroke the Terminator, atop a tank. He wears a mask that's half-orange and half-black, and his two katanas are at the ready...as is his insatiable warrior's spirit, made possible by a supersoldier serum that never stops demanding...

Deadshot stands, atop an elephant's head. He wears a prosthetic eye, with a red light that glows in its center. His harness is equipped with ammo and firearms in holsters. He's prepared to not miss a single target, on this offensive...

Here, it's more than apparent that the board is set. Now, it's time for white to move first. Question; which side is white? Also...which member of the Order of Goldwyn is the real Fitz?


	40. Chapter 40

Clark Clifford, of the Order of Goldwyn, takes command, for the time being. He fires the battle's first shots, by firing his artillery battery of superguns. Prior, Duvall, and Baxter all fire their batteries, too.

A time-displaced William Travis, from the Order of Wilson, orders his battery to fire, too. Horned helmet-headed Roland Nilson, a fellow member of the Order of Wilson, and from _the Switch_ universe, orders his battery of oil-soaked straw balls catapulted into Lincoln City. Agent Lynch, from _the A-Team_ universe, flies an AC-130 into the city, firing upon it.

Ernst Stavro Blofeld, of the Order of Waltz, hijacks a satellite weapon, and uses it on Lincoln City.

Farrell Caretaker, a member of the Order of Rock from _the Longest Yard_ universe, throws many football-shaped grenades over the wall. He even kicks or punts some of them.

Achilles mounts an elephant's head, and helps Red Arrow and Will Scarlett out with the archery. His arrows burn, like Scarlett's; but they're not grenade-tipped, like Red Arrow's.

He borrows a brace of Red Arrow's buzz saw arrows, and fires them, simultaneously. When they land, they decapitates the heads of both the Hermes statue and the Hades statue in the city.

Reznov, too, flies an AC-130 over the city, as Agent Lynch's wingman. TAU flies here and there over the city, using many of his cybernetic synthezoid parts as artillery weapons. RoboCop flies with him, as his wingman, and uses his prosthetics as artillery pieces, too.

Back outside the fort, Lord Shen, the white peacock, fires his battery several times. Simultaneously, Carnegie fires his battery, too.

Zeus takes to the skies, and uses his staff to generate lightning. Back at the fort, Terrance Shane, from the _Battleship_ universe, fires his battery.

Jack Ferriman, a member of the Order of Harrington from the _Ghost Ship_ universe, fires his battery. A time-displaced Lon Scott fires his battery at the same time. A time-displaced Alan Shepherd stands before both of them, and strikes weaponized golf balls over the wall. To him, golf balls don't fly nearly as well on Earth as they do on the moon...

Lebanov, the Iron Eagle, takes to the sky, in a grey-winged harness, and rains submachine gun fire down on Lincoln City. Back at the wall, Tecumseh Sherman fires every battery he's got, scorching the city's earth. Simultaneously, Kimmel, Hess, and Hamilton fire their batteries.

Knight, one of the will-be governors of the Order of Bakersfield, fires his battery. Warren fires his at the same time.

Ghost flies through the city, with no fear of harm. He's intangible. Artillery flies right through him, and doesn't touch him. He finds whatever burn-proof rogues he can, and runs his arm through their chests...

Nite Owl II flies around the city, dropping pellet bombs. Jensen hijacks the satellite weapons, and uses his tech to ensure that the weapons' projectiles hit actual targets, and not any innocent civilians inside the city.

In the sky, Dr. Light and Ray duel. The worst of their duel is cloaked by the smokescreen, that happens as a result of the barrage below.

Sunfire flies through the city, laying fire to it. Ramon Zero's right behind him, and rains down on Lincoln City with whatever armament's in his exosuit. Ancient One levitates, and opens portals, sending war shots from other realities down upon Lincoln City.

Cho dismounts his elephant, becomes Hulk, and smashes into the city. Behind him, Thing and Armor run after him. Armor starts generating her armor, as soon as she's past the smashed wall. She needs it; many of the forces at the wall open fire on her, as soon as she crosses the line.

While Fitz's offensive is raining fire down upon Lincoln City, Cyrus's defensive returns the favor, and returns fire, with its own artillery.

Static flies over the offensive, and starts generating lightning...both to combat Zeus's, and to strike Fitz's forces. Around him, Lucy Fugue, Livewire, Lincoln Campbell, Isis, Electro, Bobby, and Blackout assemble, in formation, for the same purpose.

With Livewire in the center of the formation, they fly a victory lap around the city; a hasty one, considering that they haven't hit that many targets since the defensive's start. But they soon assemble around Zeus, and Fitz's offensive, and do their worst, where lightning and the city's power grid are concerned.

Pied Piper uses his legs to keep him airborne, while using his arms to blare a barrage of noise at Fitz's offensive. He aims at their guns, and keeps screaming, and generating noise with his other noise-making toys...

Within the Order of Watertown, Dix, Wilson, Fenton, and Teddy Roosevelt take up exosuits, fly, and start using their exosuits as airborne artillery pieces. Roosevelt's is bear-themed, for some reason...

Within the Order of Springfield, Green, Ryan, Fifer, Tanner, Ogilvie, Yates, and Stratton all put on exosuits of their own. They take to the skies, and join the airborne Order of Watertown in their air assault on Fitz's offensive.

In the Order of Good Zion, Sharon, Netanyahu, Katsav, and Shamir also wear exosuits. They take to the skies, and help out with their side's part of the aerial artillery.

Alan Scott uses his ring's power to simulate a hover-cannon. With it, he opens fire on Fitz's offensive, aiming at their artillery pieces.

Bron-Char uses the _Helion_ as a gunship, and helps Scott out. He sure wishes Scott didn't take out all of the good targets before he could...

All air forces clear a way, for the Fish Eagle Force. It hovers over Fitz's offensive, and peers down on it, via its own Eye of Sauron...

One by one, the Eye spotlights each member of the Order of DiCaprio...and Ghost. Sam Wheat bears the likeness of Patrick Swayze...

"You have death wishes," the Fish Eagle Force's voice thunders. "Good..."

With that, the Fish Eagle Force shoots tethers down, into Fitz's offensive, and begins funneling his energy into the likes of Sam Wheat, the Kid from _the Quick and the Dead_ universe, a time-displaced Louis XIV, Romeo Montague, Roger Ferris from the _Body of Lies_ universe, Josh from the _Critters_ universe, Jordan Belfort from _the Wolf of Wall Street_ universe, a time-displaced Jim Carroll, Jack Dawson from the _Titanic_ universe, a time-displaced J. Edgar Hoover, a time-displaced Howard Hughes, a time-displaced Frank Abagnale, Dom Cobb from the _Inception_ universe, Danny Archer from the _Blood Diamond_ universe, Calvin J. Candie from the _Django Unchained_ universe, Billy Costigan from _the Departed_ universe, Andrew Laeddis from the _Shutter Island_ universe, Vanisher, Sunfire, Revanche, Professor X, Fantomex, Armor, and Akihiro.

All around, the Fish Eagle Force's would-be hosts start blowing up, as their bodies can't handle its excessive power. That's no problem for it; it channels itself into the remaining likely hosts...

One flicker at a time, the Fish Eagle Force vanishes from the sky, as its energy is funneled into the last of its surviving would-be hosts. Professor X blows up, as this happens.

Louis XIV, Hughes, Candie, Sunfire, Revanche, Armor, and Akihiro are among the survivors. The power also drained itself into Agent Smith, Pointe du Lac, Lt. Raine, Rusty Ryan, and Sinbad. It killed Achilles, Jesse James, Ludlow, and Paul Maclean.

Now airborne, the Air Force of the Fish Eagle rises above Lincoln City. They levitate into the city, and start raining the Fish Eagle Force down on their enemies...

Atop separate pillars, Pink Arrow, Eden Archer, and Comanche stand, and fire arrows at Fitz's offensive. Pink Arrow's and Eden Archer's arrows are grenade-tipped. Comanche's are flaming.

Still armed, Red Arrow and Scarlett return fire. There's a scar on an elephant's head, from where Achilles fell, involuntarily trying to collect the Fish Eagle Force...

Achilles's foot is still atop the elephant's head. His heel is severed...

Eden Archer and Comanche both get hit, from behind, by the Dark Fish Eagles. Pink Arrow keeps putting up what barrage she can, but ends up getting scorched to a cinder, from above, by Dr. Light.

Mr. Terrific sends T-spheres into Fitz's offensive. They do reconnaissance, and communicate to the three archers, as to where better to aim...

Cyborg Hephaestus mounts a fourth pillar, shouts, and throws his hammer into Fitz's offensive. It knocks down, and goes through, several of Fitz's warriors, before flying back into his hand.

Citizen Illinois sets up a mortar, and starts dropping shells into its barrel. Around him, some of the grounded members of the Orders of Springfield, Watertown, and Good Zion do the same, with a battery of mortars. Cdr. Buenos Aires joins them. The shells shoot out, and land among the ranks of Fitz's offensive.

It's time to get physical. Soon, Fitz will send an infantry advance into the city, slaying all who resist...


	41. Chapter 41

The artillery of both sides has been rendered useless. It's now time for the infantry forces to make their dreaded moves...

Where the ice walls used to be, the Pink Army assembles all of its strongest warriors; swarms of vulturine guineafowl, Citizen Illinois, Cdr. Buenos Aires, Sir Louis the Just, Batroc the Leaper, Reverse-Flash, Pink Flash, Crossbones, Morgan, Clark, and Fish of Watertown, Bissell, Oglesby, Old Ranger, Duncan, Palmer, and Hamilton of Springfield, Rivlin, Begin, and Weizmann of Good Zion, Taskmaster, Obsidian, Mr. Fish (not the will-be governor of New York), King Shark, Kikyo Mikage, Komodo, Klaw, Papa Midnite, Iceman, Executioner, Eel, Ocean Master, Juggernaut, Citizen Cold, Black Knight, and Capt. Love. They're all armed, and they're all dangerous. They dare what remains of Fitz's offensive to cross into Lincoln City...

"Go away," the two Flashes shout simultaneously, super-vibrating their voices as they do, "or go to hell! We will put you there for you!"

"GO AWAY," Tarzan shouts, "OR GO TO HELL! WE WILL PUT YOU THERE FOR YOU!"

Harold Nixon sighs, and shakes his head. "STILL can't believe there are versions of me that don't have manners..."

"Fuck you, faggots," George Callister, a member of the Order of Chiklis from the _Eagle Eye_ universe, shouts. "We've got our eye set on the Grey House!"

With a bugle, Neil Armstrong sounds the charge. Both sides heave a very loud yell, and charge into action.

On both sides, supersoldiers are in the lead. All three throw away their shields, like discuses, and start fighting each other; Citizen California vs. Citizen Illinois and Commander Buenos Aires...

All around, the grounded and surviving knights of the Order of Bakersfield get to work. Schwarzenegger takes the lead, roars, and begins slashing away at Fish, Oglesby, Old Ranger, Hamilton, and Begin. Pacheco leaps in, and helps out.

Warren, Stephens, and Markham gather in a triangle, backs to each other, and start fighting Morgan, Clark, Bissell, Duncan, Palmer, Rivlin, and Weizmann. These seven rogues may be strangers to each other from where they come from, but Markham, Stephens, and Warren all must admit that they all make quite the formidable force, when they combine their arms at militaristic primes of their lives...

All of Fitz's old shipmates and fellow POWs, and their respective alternate reality doppelgangers, surround Capt. Love, and aim their bayonets at him. Capt. Love sighs, and bows his head. Why, o why don't Cyrus, Novak, or Ambruso have more militaristic counterparts in the multiverse?

Capt. Love is soon saved...by himself. The two Flashes flash everywhere, generating yellow and pink streaks of light, as they go along. They rip the hearts out of several chests, and leave them in a pile, next to Capt. Love. Some of them still beat...

All around Capt. Love and the Flashes, several of Fitz's recruits fall over, with holes in their chests. Only a fair amount, for Capt. Love, remain. Everyone left in the Order of Mathews dies.

Pink flash stands, with his arm raised, and through Callister's chest. He's got his mask on. "Who's the faggot NOW," he says, in a scary voice, "fag?!" With that, he lowers his arm, and lets Callister's corpse slide off, and over...with a hole in its chest.

Pink Flash and Reverse-Flash stand on either side of Capt. Love, their alternate identity from Californian history. All around, the disheartened warriors in Fitz's offensive fall over and die, with holes in the left sides of their chest.

Capt. Love scoffs. "Saved by myself... Never would've imagined." He takes a look at the pile of hearts, near him; Freddie Hanscom's head is there, because as a zombie, he didn't have a heart. Except for the zombification, the head looks much like Thom Mathews's. "I'll have to drop those in jars of wine, later."

"Good luck with that, Cap," Reverse-Flash says.

"We got shit to do," Pink Flash finishes his sentence. With that, they both speed off. Capt. Love loses control, fixes his bayonet, and fights who's left.

Obsidian fires his side a helpful shot, by making it night all over Lincoln City. He has to strain himself...but he must do this, if Cyrus is to pay him well for his efforts... At this point, of course, Obsidian isn't thinking about the fact that few of his fellow combatants can see in the dark any better than...a fish eagle.

In the shadows, Makoto gets to work. She stealthily butchers several guineafowl cocks, with her katanas.

Zuri, as the Black Panther, helps her out, too. This darkness is the perfect supplement to the black color of his vibranium panther-themed suit...

Nomad takes out several, too, in this darkness. As Captain America, though, he could probably never take out half this many targets...

Katana slithers through the darkness, butchering guineafowl cocks as she goes along. Somehow, she pinpoints where Obsidian is. She sneaks up behind him, leaps, draws Soultaker, and runs him through, through the chest.

Obsidian screams like a girl, as night becomes pink day, once again, all around. The day warriors, once again, have the advantage.

Powers and all, Soultaker claims Obsidian's soul, as he dies. One of Katana's katanas is now that much stronger, as Obsidian's soul is forcefully united with the many souls of this old sword's many victims.

Mr. Fish, Taskmaster, Juggernaut, Ocean Master, Klaw, and Iceman are all dead. Nomad killed Mr. Fish and Taskmaster. Makoto killed Iceman and Klaw. Black Panther killed Juggernaut. Katana killed Ocean Master.

Katana's thankful that Yellow Lantern's already dead, courtesy of Nite Owl II, via air-to-air combat. Otherwise, she'd be in some very hot water with him, right now, having just killed his son, and claimed his soul via the Soultaker sword...

Northstar descends, and faces Akihiro. Akihiro's got the Fish Eagle Force in him. His eyes glow. Like a Japanese-Canadian terror, he glares at Northstar, as the latter prepares to storm his two best friends; and Northstar DOESN'T mean his adamantium-infused fists...

"Traitor," Northstar whispers.

"Am," Akihiro growls, "I?"

Fantomex swaggers up beside Akihiro, with the Fish Eagle Force still in him. EVA hovers near him, also charged with the Fish Eagle Force's power. Revanche, also with the Fish Eagle Force in her, swaggers up beside the both of them. Silver Samurai lands nearby, and draws adamantium katanas. Ka-Zar lumbers in, on his knuckles, and rounds things out.

"This is for Iceman," Northstar hisses, "and for fellow faggotry everywhere!" With that, he charges the X-Men, if not the Alpha Flight, who's come to slay him. He's outnumbered six to one...but as a speedster and an aviator, and a Saskatchewanite, he loves his chances.

Kikyo Mikage shows up, and helps Northstar out. He's got a score, after all, to settle with Akihiro and Silver Samurai...

Sir Louis raids the corpse of the other Sir Louis, who was a member of the Order of DiCaprio, and steals his armor. Having been a later-occurring French royal, it makes sense that Louis XIV's armor was more advanced than Louis XIII's.

Clad in the Sun King's armor, the Just returns to war, with all of Fitz's rude invaders. The Crescent Order soon surrounds him, powers cocked.

Jonah Hex breaks the ice, by firing two revolver shots at his face. The Just smiles, and deflects both with his shield.

Deathstroke shouts, leaps in, draws his katanas, and gets to work, beating the Just to a pulp. He can tell this is going to be fun...slaying a king of France before he's even ruled...

Behind him, the body of the Sun King, with the likeness of Leo DiCaprio, lies. This time, it would be fair; Cyrus's forces have already slain a will-be king of France.

Papa Midnite opens a portal, and walks through it. He compels the Crescent Order to divide their forces.

Deadshot draws a pair of submachine guns, aims them at Midnite, and lets them rip. Midnite smiles, chants, raises his arms, and freezes the bullets, in midair. It seems it doesn't pay to be a perfect marksman when your target has the power to slow bullets in midair...

It turns out Jonah Hex knows some dark magic, too. With that, he and Midnite have at it. They chant, and virtually become skeletons while dueling...

The Chaste surrounds Eel, overwhelming him. Eel hisses, and whips his tail around.

Deathlok yells, leaps, and gets to work, tackling Eel. Both are strong. Eel almost shorts out some of the electronics in Deathlok's prosthetics.

Deathlok and Man-Ape take turns, tackling Eel. Eel may just be a fish out of water, but that sure as hell doesn't make him any weaker...

The Just sucker-punches Deathstroke, and runs. Deadshot chases him, shooting as he goes.

Batroc the Leaper and Makoto have at it. It seems he's just as good with his savate as she is with her steel...

Deathstroke groans, and crawls around on the ground. His hand touches something slimy.

It looks like a pair of feet. Slowly, Deathstroke looks up.

It's King Shark. His eyes are narrowed, and his teeth are bared.

"Shit," Deathstroke swears.

And now, the new fight is on. King Shark begins by flailing Deathstroke around like a fail, beating him against every hard surface in sight.

Deathstroke reclaims his katanas, and fights back. He soon learns that it doesn't pay to chop the arms off a creature who can regenerate instantly.

Black Knight and Black Panther have at it. Black Panther leaps very high, and runs very far, to avoid getting slashed by Black Knight's sword...

The Just and Deadshot speed through town, shooting at one another. Behind them, the remainder of the Order of Statham joins the chase, covering Deadshot.

The gunfight is intense. This is just like a Fast Furious movie...

At long last, Deadshot puts his fail-proof marksmanship to good use. He spots Komodo atop one of the Stathams' cars, aiming a rifle at the roof. Deadshot smiles, aims a pistol out the window, and fires.

Komodo's brains get blown out, and he topples into the road. Deadshot has to swerve to avoid his corpse.

Deadshot catches up, with the fleeing Just. He aims a simple pistol, and waits for a clean shot...

He's rudely interrupted, when Gibson breaks into the car from the roof, slides in, aims his own pistol at the Just, and takes a shot. The bullet circles in midair, goes under the Just's chin, and through his head. There's no exit wound; the Sun King's old helmet ensures that.

With that, the Just's car flies right off the highway, and dives into the Potomac River. All three of the surviving Statham knights gape, as this happens...

In the moment of awe, the Flashes speed in, and slay the surviving opposition. In one fell swoop, they finish off the last of the Order of Statham.

Pink Flash stands atop a lamppost, with his arm through Gibson's chest. Gibson bleeds out of his mouth, while dying.

Below, Deadshot falls to his death. A pile of rubble falls on him, when he hits the bottom.

Pink Flash glares up at Gibson, while killing him. "You should've stayed with Jane Smith," he growls.

"Her name," Gibson spurts blood, "is Fox."

"Whatever." With that, Pink Flash lowers his arm, and allows gravity, and the pavement far below, to do to Gibson what he alone can't.

The car of Frank Martin, one of the Statham knights, has wrecked, of course. Reverse-Flash phases through its trunk, and loots whatever Martin was transporting... He also finds some gold bricks, in the back of the Aston Martin Vanquish that Handsome Rob was speeding. They've all got a Balinese dancer engraved on them...

Crossbones and Nomad have at it. From his gauntlets, Crossbones shoots shuriken blades. Nomad catches his shield, and deflects them. Sometimes, the shuriken stick themselves into the shield...

King Shark and Deathstroke still fight. Both can be very violent, when they fight...

Heavy-footed, Citizen Cold drags himself past Ray's fallen corpse. Somehow, Ray's eyes have been burned, and scorched, right out of their sockets.

Citizen Cold drags his cold gun to a ledge, and mounts it. He looks down. Below, King Shark and Deathstroke fight. Deathstroke's back is to Citizen Cold.

Citizen Cold scoffs, and aims his firearm at Deathstroke. He's sure King Shark could use the backup...

Alas, Cold is spontaneously run through, from behind, with a sabre. He gapes, lowers his arms, and drops his cold gun. His slayer scoots it behind him, with his boot.

His slayer is Lt. Evan, a warrior from Jonah Hex's time, who bears the likeness of John Gallagher, Jr. He keeps his sabre in Cold's chest, until Cold breathes his last. Now, Lt. Evan pushes Cold off his bloody blade, with his boot, and causes Cold to fall from a height, to his sure death.

King Shark is distracted, and stops, to acknowledge Cold's sudden murder. His mouth is wide open...

With a grenade launcher, Deathstroke fires a grenade into King Shark's mouth. King Shark swallows it, without realizing what he's done.

Lt. Evan gathers Citizen Cold's cold gun, after having cleaned his sword, and sheathed it. As King Shark's corpse is blown to bits below, Lt. Evan smiles, wanders off, and starts practicing using Citizen Cold's legacy for himself...

Once again, Deathstroke is challenged, by Gotham's Executioner. Tired, but still passionate, Deathstroke takes up his blades, once more, and clashes with Executioner, too...

Capt. Love is still overwhelmed, but is still holding strong. He runs his blade through the chest of Turner, from the _Atonement_ universe, dooming the last of the Order of McAvoy. Earlier, Lucy Fugue had slain Jade, when the diabetic latter needed an insulin dose.

Hans Landa charges through town, slaying guineafowl as he goes. He almost NEVER has this much fun slaying Jews...

The guineafowl bring back sweet memories to Léon Rom, the Congo-colonizer from Hainaut, as he uses a Henry rifle to take on each charging guineafowl, one by one...

Idi Amin joins him, showering a SAW everywhere, at all the guineafowl and pink elephants that dare charge them.

He gets even happier, when the enemy's pink elephants, with umbrella-shaped bo staffs, charge him, from all fronts. Rom takes up an even bigger Henry rifle, and gets to work slaying them, too. If the elephants weren't pink, or proficient in umbrella bojutsu, they'd remind him of the Belgian Congo, too...

The guineafowl dogpile Sirius Black, as the black dog. Sirius, of course, goes berserk, growls, bites, and starts slaughtering the cocks in droves, all around him... As he goes, he transfigures several of them into roast chickens. He's going to need something to eat, after all, after he slaughters all their worthless faggoty asses...

John Ottway arrives, and fights at Sirius's side. He exploits the many roast chickens, that Sirius has transfigured, while doing so...

David, a vampire of the Order of James from the _Underworld_ universe, joins Ottway and Black, and defends both. He feasts on the blood of both the guineafowl and the roast chickens, as they go along...

Pink elephants surround Phango, a half-blind leopard in the Order of Neeson, with their bo staves. Phango roars, draws his claws, and gets to work on their undersides, whenever he can get at them...

A time-displaced Spc. Beck, from the Battle of Ia Drang in the Vietnam War, and a knight of the Order of Harrington, is tempted not to weep, as he sprays a SAW everywhere, slaughtering guineafowl as he goes along. He wishes that his own weeping widow, too, could've been portrayed in the Ft. Benning scenes of _We Were Soldiers_...

Big Harold, a knight of the Order of Whitaker from the _Platoon_ universe, joins him. He throws grenades, where Beck can't shoot.

Hannibal Smith joins them, making it a party for three. Between shots with his rifle, he smokes a cigar.

A time-displaced Jean d'Aulon, also in the Order of Harrington, brings his feminine boss, Joan of Arc, honor, while slaying guineafowl cocks and pink elephants in the name of France...and Fitz. This isn't the same as protecting France's greatest female, of course...but at least it's more of a workout. If only idiots would've tried to assassinate Joan more often...

Olson, from the Jack Ryan universe, and a knight of the Order of Feore, wears an over-armed mecha, that's elephant-themed, and styled in South African colors. With it, he does battle with the pink elephants. For him, this feels great. He's an arms dealer, and it's about time he redeemed himself, for selling that salvaged nuke to Richard Dressler, that abominable neo-fascist, and would-be Fuhrer of Nazi Eurasia...

Dell Toledo, a knight of the Order of Chiklis from the _American Horror Story_ universe, leads his own show of freak Creature Commandos in a savage battle with the guineafowl. He himself takes on a bull pink elephant...who isn't so much a bull, as he is an intact steer, being gay and all...

Jimmy Pig, a supersoldier and another knight of the Order of Chiklis, from the _Soldier_ universe, takes on Citizen New York. They prove to be an even match. Alas, Cdr. Israel soon joins in, and creates more work than Pig's used to...

Jimmy, a wild child soldier and a knight in the Order of Bell from the _King Kong_ universe, is surrounded by pink elephant bullocks. Like a savage, he loses control, and starts fighting all of them. Tarzan arrives, and backs him up.

Griffin O'Connor, a teleporting knight of the Order of Bell from the _Jumper_ universe, teleports here and there, attacking Pink Flash, Reverse-Flash, and Northstar. All three speedsters are good at what they do; better than O'Connor, perhaps...

Back to Capt. Love: Slater (from _Archer_), Gabriel (from _the Americans_), Four (from _Divergent_), Nate Ford (from _Leverage_), Melander (from _Parker_), and a time-displaced Asael Bielski all take turns, trying to slay Love. The Flashes and Northstar are still too busy with O'Connor; hence, they probably won't save their antebellum Californian twin a second time around...

Love waves his sabre everywhere, and slashes anyone who comes near him, with murder in their eyes. In moments like these, he sure wishes Don Rafael Montero had his back...or Cyrus, even...

Love kills Slater, ending the Order of Slater. He kills Melander, too, ending the Order of Chiklis at the same time.

By killing Melander, Love inadvertently brings Ford some relief. Up until now, he's been disputing with Melander over who's calling the shots, in this assault...

Mooseblood the Mosquito, a knighted mosquito of the Order of Rock from the Bee Movie universe, lands on Love's exposed neck. With luck, Mooseblood will drain Love dry before...

Love slaps Mooseblood, killing him. Alas, he has to let down his guard, to do so...

Bielski swoops in, and shoots Love to death, with the entire magazine of a submachine gun. And so, the Jewish Polish martyr triumphs over an enemy of antebellum California, from about a century before his own time...

Bielski backs away, and watches, as Love's corpse falls over. From above, a pile of bricks falls atop him.

Bielski, Ford, Four, and Gabriel all cheer, pat one another on the back, and scatter, looking for more faggots to slay. Farther away, up at the High Pink Castle, the hot pink up there is getting hotter...

Cyrus, Novak, and Ambruso stand atop the outer wall, as Perry, Bucatinsky, and del Negro, surveying the battle in the city. They've all lamenting looks, on their faces.

"Our defensive fatigues," Novak remarks.

"Nothing has failed," Cyrus insists, "as long as this wall stands as tall as it does, and the President stays outside of it."

"He won't have to try very hard to break in," Ambruso dreads. "This is all illusory, after all."

Cyrus grins. "Our limit is our minds. There's three of us, and only one Grant II. Plus, we still have his whore in our clutches. Even with two Nixons, an Armstrong, a Miller, Michael Collins, Sir Gawain, a Caesar, a Trudeau, a Reagan, and Huo Yuanjia in his ranks, what can he do?"

Like statues, the three gay men stand high, atop the wall. Below them, the castle causeway spirals around the tall mountain it's on. Fitz's offensive will soon use it, for an epic cavalry charge on the Grey House...which, for as long as this lasts, will likely remain the High Pink Castle...


	42. Chapter 42

Armored all around, the cavalry of Fitz's offensive proceeds up the spiral causeway, to the High Pink Castle. There are tanks and elephants beneath that armor, among other things...

For this, Hobgoblin 2099 has loaded pumpkin mines into the causeway. He hovers near, aback his glider, and waits for the perfect time to detonate them...

Fore, the convoy marches upon a dead skunk. There are requests, throughout the convoy, to go around it...or to otherwise stop and clean it up, since there's no way around it...

"Keep going," Fitz orders. "It's just a hallucination."

They march on. Sure enough, the skunk vanishes into thin are, mere moments before it's run over by the convoy.

Next, they see a rattlesnake in the causeway. It perches, and bares its fangs, shaking its rattle, as the convoy approaches it...

Here, Ushari leaps from the gaps in the convoy's armor, lands in front of it, and slithers up to the rival snake. Both snakes sit high, upon their coils, and prepare for a duo...

"Christian," Fitz implores his old shipmate, "don't do it. That's just a..."

A pumpkin bomb detonates, within the causeway, blowing a part of Christian to bits.

Fitz sighs. "It's a delusion, AND a bomb. I swear they didn't teach me enough in recruit training... Keep going!"

They proceed. The dent in the causeway feels strange on some of their feet, but they try not to regard it.

Above, Hobgoblin watches, with a sinister look forged into his mask. He breathes like a snake...like the snake he just duped Ushari into killing himself with...

Just outside the convoy, it's a long way, from the edge to the ground. Some parts of the convoy straddle it...

A pink dragon meets them on the causeway, and bares its fangs. The convoy slows...

"KEEP GOING," Fitz orders. "IT'S JUST A HALLUCINATION!"

The convoy still slows. A furnace burns, just inside the dragon's mouth. It's flame gets brighter...

Mysterio flies around, shoots some bolts of pink lightning, and destroys the dragon. He lands in the causeway, and waves his arms.

"Turn around now," he orders, "and no harm will come to you!"

The bore of a big cannon slides its way forward, through a gap in the fore of the convoy's armor. It fires, blowing Mysterio to bits.

With Mysterio dead, the pumpkin mines start going off, all up and down the causeway. Lots of holes are blown into it.

Hobgoblin flies here and there, over the convoy, laughing evilly at its misfortune. Its laugh is only a little less scary, as usual, than Green Goblin's...

Up ahead, a chalk line is drawn, across the causeway. In Cyrus's vision, it separates the city right-of-way from legal High Pink Castle grounds.

Cyrus looks down upon it, from atop the wall, anxious. "Come on, Fitz," he mutters. "Come on, and cross that line. Come on up, and make me make a double-barreled widower out of you!"

High above the castle, a fleet of stealth aircraft fly past. Cyrus neither sees nor hears them... Their cloaking must be telepathy-proof, as well as invisible...

Back below, Fitz's convoy approaches the chalk line. Fitz is SO close to widowing himself twice in the same night...or whatever time of day this is...

Inside the convoy, Fitz gets a message, on an earpiece. He smiles, and relaxes. "Ah, what a relief," he mutters. "KEEP GOING!"

With that, the convoy crosses the chalk line...and keeps going.

Cyrus crosses his arms, looks down upon the convoy, and shakes his head. "Shame. I know I'm gay, but...I rather liked both women."

Novak narrows his eyes, and makes a move, to do something sinister...

Alas, he stops. He freezes. His eyes move from side to side.

The three men look at each other, confused. A convoy is about to crash their castle's front gate...and yet, they're all too stupid to command the defensive.

"Liv's gone," Ambruso whispers.

"Mellie, too," Cyrus adds.

"O'Reilly, too," Novak sneers. "Bless his soul. Who'd want to rescue him?!"

"Our leverage is gone," Cyrus moans. "We're on our own, if we still want this castle."

"Relax," Novak assures them. "We're some of the most powerful elephantfish on the whole damn planet. If we can't keep the president outside of his own mansion, then their really is no hope in transhumanism."

"Transelephantfishism," Ambruso whispers, correcting him.

"Transelephantfishism," Novak repeats, begrudgingly.

Out of mines, Hobgoblin starts shooting at the convoy, with missiles. The stone of the causeway, under its treads and feet, starts to crumble...

From a gap in the armor, the barrel of an energy rifle protrudes. It aims high, at Hobgoblin's glider, and shoots a beam of energy.

Hobgoblin yells in distress, spirals in circles down the mountain, lands in the field where President Hayes once hosted the first-ever Easter egg hunt, and blows up in a fiery explosion, glider, armor, and all.

"THAT takes care of the causeway defensive," Fitz mutters. "Let's just hope that smashing the gate is less costly."

With weaponry heavy in hand, the convoy slows, as it approaches the gate. Up here, it sheds its armor, and reveals that its vanguard is a treaded siege engine, with a battering ram.

Inside the gate, the Legion of Doom stands, in formation, facing the gate. Ares and Raven are at point.

"They'll figure it out," Reverb mutters. "I just know it..."

"Shush," Raven hisses.

Outside, the battering ram swings aft, and fore, and rams the gate. It doesn't give, of course. But then, it never gives the first time, does it?

"We're wasting our time," Agent Miller mutters. "The gate's illusory. For all we know, it repairs itself instantly, after each time we ram it."

Harold Nixon subtly nods, agreeing. He fidgets. He looks around...

He gets on his earpiece. "I'm going in," he says. With that, he storms towards the gate, and runs right through it, as if it were nothing. Behind him, Solverson (from _Fargo_), Schultz (from _Django Unchained_), Hayes (from _Bad Company_), Korshunov (from _Air Force One_), Sir Gawain, Dick Nixon, Singer (from _Jack Ryan_), Gunn (from _Sahara_), and Trudeau follow.

They all find themselves in a round room, facing away from one another. The air is illusory, and tinted with a rosy hue.

From vomitoriums in the wall, the six members of the Legion of Doom appear. They're armed. Fitz's vanguard company is armed...seemingly less. They're going to need a bright one, to get out of this...


	43. Chapter 43

In the entrance hall of the High Pink Castle, the Legion of Doom's got Fitz and nine other good men surrounded. All someone's gotta do is open fire...

Benny, from the _Life is Hot in Cracktown_ universe, bursts in through the gate, appearing out of nowhere. He takes his place in the circle, beaming...until he sees the surrounding Legion, and frowns, as he cocks his weaponry...

Ares takes up his shield, and aims his spear. Raven's eyes darken, her head glows with a pink stone, and she generates black fumes all around her. Mirror Master darts from mirror to mirror, throughout the room, and ends up right back where he started. Reverb opens portals here and there, darting across the room in a way that makes Mirror Master look lame. Scarecrow generates gas, from his bony gauntlets. Enchantress hijacks June Moone, and assembles dark clouds behind her...

"Separate chambers," Fitz recommends, from Harold Nixon's body. "I get Raven."

Raven grins, creepily. "You would dare attack a little girl, Mr. President?"

"Only if she tries to keep me out of my own home, and kill my Liv if I try to come back."

Around Fitz, the chamber gets smaller. It's just him and Raven. The rest of his final brotherhood is lucky; they're each going to fight one of the other Legion villains as a duo, with someone to have their backs.

Yep; this is Cyrus's illusion, alright...

"I must warn you," Raven says, in a creepy voice, "that I'm a bit of a misandrist. Pardon me if I pull a nutcracker that lives up to its name."

"You'd dare crack presidential nuts?"

"Baby," Raven hisses, "I was BORN to crack such nuts!"

Around Fitz's legs, strangler fig vines conjure themselves. They're black...like Raven's magic. They're girdling up towards Fitz's scrotum...

Raven is impaled, from behind, via a green-glowing-tipped spear. The spear's owner revolves into view, as she moves her spear.

It's Ancient One...or so it seems. She looks like Tilda Swinton.

"Sorry, my dear Raven," she says. "But I promised my new friend, here, that I'd help him reclaim his home."

"Farshad?!"

"Sh," Ancient One/Farshad whispers. "The less the enemy hears, the less they'll suspect." She slides Raven's corpse off her spear, and cleans it, with a spell. "Much of the rest of the Legion has fallen, BTW. But your new enemy Cyrus seems to have other defenses in place."

"I don't care. I'll slay all of them."

Farshad nods. "I'll do what I can."

Fitz, as an alternate Harold Nixon in battledress, wanders off on his own, with an energy rifle at the ready. He imagines that his brother, who bears the likeness of Frank Langella, has slain the DC Ares by now. Or worse, that the DC Ares has slain his brother... But then, Frank isn't REALLY Fitz's brother... A brother in seamanship, maybe, but...

Fitz slithers through an arch, and steps down a step. He looks up, and around. He's in a dome. Beyond, an aquarium lies, far and blue...

In the background, Enya's "Less than a Pearl" plays...

A whale shark swims around, in the tank. Fitz has heard of the Atlanta Aquarium...but sadly, he hasn't had a chance to go there since his inauguration...

Shake it off, Fitz, Fitz thinks to himself. You're here to butcher your chiefs of staff; not to ogle at their imaginations. Soon enough, they'll all be too dead to imagine anything...

Around the top of the dome, a mermaid, who bears the likeness of Keri Russell, swims around. She wears a pretty pendant around her neck. Then again, it's probably just a rabbit's foot...or a pair of dog tags, from her war-robbed husband...

"Fitz?!" It's Liv's voice. She doesn't sound too pleased...as she usually doesn't. "This is inexcusable."

It's Liv, more adorable than ever. She wears a white coat, and has got a bitchy critical eye...like Fitz has always loved. She marches up to him. She's got a warpath in her expression...like on the day he first laid eyes on her.

"You need to stop this, Fitz. People are getting hurt. NEVER, in the history of our country, has our capital been in such turmoil. The War of fucking 1812 saw better days than this!"

Fitz laughs. "It's good to finally meet the real you too...Cyrus."

"That is NOT funny. I work my ass off to make you look perfect for the press, and yet, here you are, in your precious home, pretending like you're on Lake Tanganyika, fishing for tilapias."

"Your empathy's broken. You have no idea who I am."

"I swear, if you keep this up, I'm going to leave you forever. I don't care how badly I want the Grey House. If I ever get there, it'll be without you. And for what it's worth, I hope you don't get reelected!"

"It's always been like the real Liv to not believe in me, when I run for office. But the real Liv would never HOPE I wouldn't win...if she truly loved me."

"Your wife is a whore! You need to divorce her, NOW!"

Fitz grins, takes his rifle, and runs the bayonet through "Liv's" chest. She gapes, and looks sorrowful, into Fitz's eyes, as she dies... Alas, she doesn't die. In real life, a person wouldn't hover in life like that, for that long, before dying...

Right before Fitz's eyes, Liv vanishes into thin air. Fitz scoffs, and smiles at his bayonet. For once, he doesn't have to clean it...

"I must confess, I overestimated you, Fitz."

A man, bearing the likeness of Jeff Perry, stands in a pulpit in the wall, far above Fitz. "The Fitz I thought I knew," he continues, "wouldn't have the will to run his mistress through the chest with a bayonet. Nor would he take so much pride in posing as the dead brother of one of his predecessors."

"Cyrus," Fitz turns around, and acknowledges his head staff chief's figment. "Ordinarily, I would thank you for keeping my house in order in my absence. But as you might know, I just hate gay Nazi interior décor...and I'm pretty sure this country does, too."

"Homosexuality isn't illegal in the NAU, Fitz."

"How about kidnapping Liv? How about forcing public officials to rape one another, for entertainment? How about false imprisonment? I'm sure there's a whole list there, that only you and your two boon companions remember," he narrows his eyes, "if memory is even your talent."

Cyrus chuckles. "As much as I put you up against, to get here...how could you possibly think I don't have any talent?"

"Talent doesn't make you worthy of the Grey House, Cyrus."

"This isn't the Grey House anymore. This is the High Pink Castle. And it's MY castle. And you're trespassing!"

In a hallway, Danielle Moonstar appears. Her eyes glow bright green. She dresses in black. Illusory lights flash from her hands...

"Ooh, your share of the X-Force is here, I see." Cyrus bows out. "Don't miss the bear!"

All around, a wave floats over Fitz's surroundings, transforming them into the Wyoming wild. He imagines that, in Marvel Comics, this is where Danielle Moonstar grew up, before Professor X recruited her...

Eerily, Moonstar approaches Fitz. She grins, in a demonic manner...

Fitz scoffs. "I have no idea why Cyrus keeps sending me female members of his guard... He must really be a misogynist..."

Behind Fitz, something growls, and breathes heavily. Fitz turns, and aims his rifle at what approaches.

It's Demon Bear. His face is as big as the sky. His eyes glow. His teeth are bared.

"I killed your dynasty, Fitzgerald Grant," Demon Bear growls. "And soon, I will come to kill you!"


	44. Chapter 44

Fitz has been cornered by Demon Bear...trapped in Danielle Moonstar's worst nightmare...in his own home...controlled by a trio of telepathic elephantfish. Fitz is certain of one thing; he never understood Ms. Moonstar's fear of bears, until now...

If you ask me, he should watch a movie called _Backcountry_, in which the main villain is a VERY violent bear...

He wasn't as impressive as my own vision of Demon Bear, though. Not only have I not read the comic, but a movie that was supposed to be released three years ago has been re-shot, and postponed due to a certain pandemic that'd keep the richest crowd from seeing it, and... You're probably wondering what happens next.

Fitz holds his ground. The bear is huge, and his eyes glow. His jaws glow, when he opens them...

Moonstar stalks about, in black slutty clothes, with green illusory arcs dancing off her hands. She's an X-Force chick, and she's in control...

Nearby, a portal opens. Frank/Dick Milhous falls through it. The portal vanishes. With expendable effort, Fitz helps him up.

"Wow," Dick gawks, "I just killed DC's Ares! I just did in five minutes what Gal Gadot's Wonder Woman couldn't do to David Thewlis in..."

And, he sees Demon Bear. He gapes.

"Brother..."

"I'm not your brother," Fitz mutters. "These are all just illusions."

"Okay. What...is this huge scary thing that's staring at us?"

Fitz shrugs. "Of course you wouldn't know. New Mutants hasn't been released yet...STILL. This is Demon Bear. She's being controlled by that hot native American chick, right there."

Away, but not too far so, Moonstar is still on the prowl...

"Okay," Dick tries not to tremble. "How do we kill them?"

"I think I might know of something. It's risky, but... If Moonstar can control hers, hopefully I can control mine."

"Should I scream and run if this doesn't work?"

"No. This is an illusion. You won't get far. Farshad might save you, but...that's a big if."

"Well... I suppose whatever's up your sleeve beats staying here forever, wondering if Demon Bear's going to kill us."

"Indeed." With that, Fitz starts making hacking noises. Nothing happens.

Demon Bear stops, and stares. Moonstar seems confused, too. So does Dick. Even so, Fitz keeps hacking...

"Is...THIS what you have in mind?"

"Sorry. I haven't barfed since I was a child. This is going to take some..."

Demon Bear narrows his eyes, growls really loud, and raises his paw.

"Never mind." Fitz slides back, and vomits out Lady Carp.

She grows as big as Demon Bear, and faces him. All at once, the lights in Demon Bear's eyes aren't as bright as before...

Moonstar gapes...but the lights in HER eyes only brighten. She's feeling rage; not terror...

"Wow," Dick admits, "she's got one huge ass. Why does she only have one leg?"

Fitz shakes his head. "Long story."

Lady Carp gapes, with her huge carp mouth, and stares at Demon Bear, with creepy carp eyes. She generates longer and fleshier fins, and waves them around, like tentacles. They all assume scary poses, for Demon Bear.

Spooked, Demon Bear runs across the surrounding Wyoming wilderness, and vanishes.

Impressive; but the Bear was just step one. Now, Moonstar wants revenge... She marches out in front of Lady Carp, and generates more green light from her hands...and her eyes. Lady Carp doesn't seem deterred...

"So," she hisses, "you think you can deter, eh? Perhaps you'd like to see how deterring I can be!"

With that, she transforms into a rattlesnake, and outgrows Lady Carp epically. Around them, the illusion changes again, from the Wyoming wilderness to the Utah desert.

Moonstar opens wide, takes up Lady Carp in her mouth, raises her head, and eats her in one bite. Being an illusion, she doesn't take long to swallow her.

"O fuck," Dick trembles, beneath her, like a bug, next to Fitz. "We're screwed, aren't we?"

"Not entirely," Fitz tries to comfort him.

The snake glares down, shakes her rattle, strikes, and bites Dick's head off. Beside Fitz, Dick's corpse falls over, into the Utah desert sand.

"Okay," Fitz mutters. "We MIGHT be screwed..."

The snake strikes again. Fitz runs. She chases him. Before him, a hallway of stone arches rolls on. Fitz isn't sure how he stays ahead of the snake, but he does. Even so, New Mutant or X-Force mutant, Moonstar's no quitter. Every now and then, in fact, she's even a team leader...

It'll probably be Sunspot, in _New Mutants_, though. He seems to have the best potential for it, away from Alice Braga's Cecilia Reyes... Karma's not going to be in it. SHE led the team in their debut comic...

Fitz sees a cave. He runs into it.

He ends up inside a chamber. He looks around.

The ceiling is a dome. Beyond, there's an aquarium. A whale shark swims around in it. There's just something about that shark that...

Fitz still has his rifle. He thinks...but tries not to overindulge, because Cyrus can read his mind. Even so, he has a hunch. He aims his rifle at the whale shark, to test it...

But he can't pull the trigger in time. Moonstar's coils appear from out of nowhere, collect him, and drag him away.

She's got him trapped...and cuddled. Now Fitz feels like Aladdin, in that scene where Jafar's a cobra, and has got him trapped in HIS coils...

"Hoity-toity, Mr. President," Moonstar hisses. "Not so hoity-toity NOW, are you?"

Fitz scoffs. "Look who's talking." He looks around. "Do I LOOK like I take this much effort to capture...or even beat in an election?"

"Even so," she flicks her tongue, "without your precious presidency, you're NOTHING."

With the coils, Fitz trembles. Moonstar grins, and licks her fangs, with her tongue...

Alas, her eyes stop. Her whole body stops. Her jaws open...and stay that way. Deep inside her, tiny hacking noises are made...

"Ms. Moonstar," Fitz clears his throat, "are you well?"

She rolls over, releasing Fitz. Fitz leaps out of the way, and watches, as Moonstar does a hognose snake...in the body of a rattlesnake. Alas, hognose snakes only do this when they're in trouble. Fitz is PRETTY sure this isn't deliberate...

Within her belly, a lump begins to develop. This snake SERIOUSLY needs some Pepto-Bismol...

True to half of Fitz's expectations, her tummy bursts right open. Half of a xenomorph crawls out, bares its fangs, and looks around.

Nearby, Moonstar raises her snake head, and gapes, in despair. "O my fucking god," she moans. "Do I look like John Hurt to you?!" She fatigues, and dies.

The xenomorph climbs out of her carcass, and looks around, with bared fangs, and scary eyes. Fitz takes several steps back. It's bad when the xenomorph crawls out of a normal-sized human. But this one just crawled out of a snake that could've been the Midgardian Serpent...in a cave that SHOULD be running out of room by now...if it weren't an illusion.

Fitz watches, confused, as the xenomorph takes up a hat and cane, and starts dancing across the cave. He sings, as he goes.

He sings like the singing frog, from that Looney Tunes short film. He dances right over the fallen snake's carcass, and keeps going.

Across the cave, a portal opens. Lady Carp/the xenomorph dances right into it, and takes a bow, moments before the portal closes.

Fitz sighs, stands, and reclaims his rifle. He leans it against the cave wall long enough to dust himself off.

"Ah Cyrus," he mutters. "You never cease to overwhelm me. Even so, I want my home back."

All around, Utah rolls away. He's back in the aquarium dome. Above, the whale shark keeps swimming.

Fitz still has his rifle...or rather, alternate Harold Nixon's rifle. He takes it up, and aims it at the shark again...

"MARVELOUS duel with Moonstar, Mr. President."

Fitz whirls...and aims the rifle at the head of a statue of Jonathan, son of King Saul of Israel. Jeff Perry sits atop it, with his legs around the back of Jonathan's neck. A chickenhawk is portrayed perched on Jonathan's raised arm. As high up as that arm is raised, Fitz would've hated to be Jonathan, when he posed for that sculpture...

"I want my home back," Fitz demands. "And you will give it to me, or I swear I will take this knife, and use it to rearrange your bones into turkey style."

Cyrus gapes, and raises a finger. "You...DO know that that's a RIFLE, right!"

"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT MY RELATIONSHIP WITH THE N.R.A.! JUST GIVE ME WHAT I WANT, OR DELUSION OR NOT, YOUR ASS IS GOING ON A CHARCOAL GRILL! AND I'M GOING TO FEED YOU TO EVERYONE IN THIS CITY WHO YOU EVER FORCED TO RAPE EACH OTHER, OR FALSELY IMPRISONED FOR TORTURE!"

"You know, Fitz, I know you, and I realize you don't know shit about having a sister. I don't either. But one thing I do know is that they make some very bitchy competition, in the war for men. But in the war for your ass, roasted and served on a platter, like a pork picnic roast...I don't have to compete. I would gladly hand you over to THIS sister for free. Say hello to my little Sister of Evil Mutants."

From above, a mutant, with short blonde hair, descends, and faces Fitz. All around, the illusion rolls back, and switches to a dystopian futuristic Lincoln City.

Rachel Grey's eyes are bright, and lit. All around, blue lighting strikes, from black and grey clouds. A storm blows. Rust and ashes blow around, in the air.

"Great," Fitz mutters. "ANOTHER woman. Does my chief of staff really think that little of me?"

With still lit eyes, and for reasons Fitz STILL doesn't quite understand, Ms. Grey nods her head.


	45. Chapter 45

With her mind powers, surrounded by an illusory dystopian future, Rachel Grey builds a cockfighting ring. She and Fitz are about to duel their cocks.

She and Fitz share the same box. She plans on squeezing his neck between her thighs, when this is all over with, and decapitating him, by swinging around in circles, with her thighs clamped down and in...like Xenia Onatopp in GoldenEye, only MUCH more sexopathic...and not to mention with superpowers that Onatopp WISHES she had...

All around, the storm still blows. The lightning's popping all around...but it's not as close as before. Rachel would hate to kill her own cock, five minutes in, after all...

"I love cockfights, Mr. President. My mother did too." She turns, and tries to flap her short blonde hair...best she can, since her hair doesn't flap. "It's a certain weakness of ours."

Fitz grins. "So I recall reading in your mother's comics. I was a bit late to yours, though... And you weren't in the movie _Days of Future Past_, somehow..."

She shrugs. "Budget cuts, and all that. Plus, they had neither time nor patience to look for an actress to play me. They DID find one to play Blink, though... Anyway, enough of THAT bullshit. Let me introduce you to my cock."

On one side of the arena, a metal door slides up, revealing a vomitorium. A big orange bird walks through. It looks like an ostrich...only its plumage is fire-colored.

Rachel grins. "Phoenixes come in many shapes and sizes, Mr. President. I hated to render this one flightless, but... Wouldn't cockfights be boring, if cocks could fly?"

"Wouldn't know, but... I can imagine the boredom."

She scoffs. "You are SO not a bad boy, Mr. President. I have no idea why they elected you."

"Interesting you should accuse me of that. Isn't your boyfriend, in the comics, the son of Mr. Fantastic and Invisible Woman?"

Rachel turns, and stares at Fitz. "Do I LOOK like I have a heart to you? Show me your damn cock!"

"Okay, but..." Fitz grins, and nods upward. On the other side of the ring, as the phoenix/ostrich struts past, a metal door reveals another vomitorium. Ms. Grey waits, in suspense, for Fitz to show his cock...

A little vampire ground finch wanders out. He prunes his wings, when he does.

Ms. Grey shrugs. "Where is your cock?"

He scoffs. "You're looking at him."

"What, is the finch its harbinger, or something?"

Fitz lowers his voice, grinning. "It IS the finch," he whispers.

She whirls, and gives him a disgusted look. "You sick pervert! You got my hopes up! I thought that yours would at LEAST be as big as mine...or even a fighting bird!"

"Ah well, you've clearly never heard of a VAMPIRE finch. Even so, that's no ordinary finch. He can drill through solid flesh like a little auger. He can fly fast enough to decapitate somebody. Just look at the bones!"

Hollow bird bones are now strewn about the arena.

"Those weren't there before!"

"You've been warned. Do what you will. But I will NOT be held liable for any injuries your precious phoenix chicks contract, during these matches."

"O, go pardon a turkey! Ozzie! Pancake that little starling, there! Show him how much he's worth!"

The phoenix/ostrich changes course, and approaches the finch...

"Watch, love," Fitz whispers, "and learn..."

"O, save it for when you're cheating on the..."

The finch spreads its wings, and flies right through the phoenix/ostrich's chest, like a bullet. He comes out the back end. The phoenix/ostrich gawks, and falls over.

"What in the name of Bolivar Trask! That is SO not fair!"

"O, and having a bird that's bigger than mine is? You know, Ms. Grey, you should consider seeing a therapist."

"O, shut up!"

"I'll also tell you what ELSE is unfair. You see, when people..."

"ENOUGH! I'LL SEND IN EVERYTHING I HAVE! I'LL REDUCE YOUR LITTLE VAMPIRE FINCH TO NOTHING! VOLLEY, FIRE!"

With that, the vomitorium vomits ALL of Ms. Grey's phoenix/ostriches. Like a bullet, the vampire finch flies through each of their chests, disheartening them. Blood spills out of them, as he does it.

He's rather disappointed that these cocks are crashing his feast. He WAS feasting on the first cock's blood, before they came along...

Alas, at some point, the rest of the cocks leap from the arena, and run. One of them suddenly becomes capable of verbal speech, and shouts, "RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY...!"

Ms. Grey hits her knees, and starts to undo the President's fly. "Oh! I pledge allegiance to your cock, Mr. President!"

Fitz sighs, and summons his rifle from nowhere. He reloads it, aims it at her forehead point-blank, and fires.

Ms. Grey's expression becomes empty, as a sudden hole, in the center of her forehead, causes her to fall over, curl up, and die.

All around, the illusion changes, again. Fitz is back in the aquarium dome.

"Hmm, that's strange." Fitz cleans the rifle muzzle. "You've got a Hindu dot. I've heard of chicks in Maharashtra getting those tattooed on their foreheads when they came of age, but I had no idea that there were mutants who actually grew those biologically." With that, Fitz reloads his rifle. "Alright, Cyrus! I killed your sister! Now give me back my home!"

At Fitz's feet, Ms. Grey's corpse vanishes.

"Very good, Fitz," Cyrus's voice echoes, throughout the dome. Fitz looks around, pointing his rifle everywhere. He's nowhere to be seen. "Your convoy has bested my Sinister Duo. You've all bested my Legion of Doom, my X-Force, and my Sisterhood of Evil Mutants. But I'm just getting warmed up. We both know, after all, that you can't REALLY be a president...unless you've mastered a Master of Evil."

High above, the whale shark swims right over Fitz. Fitz aims the rifle high, and pulls the trigger...

Too late; the illusion changes, again...to the surface of the moon Titan. The storms here are even stronger. But at least science was right, when it suggested that humans can stay here without suffocating to death.

Alas, this isn't the real Titan, Fitz now remembers. It's just an illusion...

In the final wave of the defensive, the Carnage Cosmic descends down upon the President, aback his silver-colored surfboard. He looks like Silver Surfer. And he is. But this version is loaded...with a symbiote that WAS red...before its most recent falling for the color silver...

Fitz, as Harold Nixon, aims his rifle up, at the descending cosmic being. He knows his rifle is probably powerless against the Carnage Cosmic. Even so, for Liv, and for his career, and for his general peace of mind, Fitz must try...

Silver Surfer stands on his surfboard, handsome as ever. Fitz would hate to describe him as such, but...he DID once seduce Invisible Woman...without Carnage in him.

With that, Silver Surfer's face becomes Carnage. He's got fangs, like Venom's. He looks a lot like Venom...only redder, and with a more insatiable appetite...for both violence and grub.

Carnage's fangs smile down upon Fitz. As adored as Fitz sometimes is, by Carnage's and Venom's appearances, he's also found them both creepy, as foes...

"Welcome to the so-called fatherland of Greece, Mr. President," Carnage speaks, making scary movements with his mouth, as he does. "There are no Spartans here...but I will personally make sure that you don't leave until Kronos swallows you...if I don't beat him to it." With that, he licks his chops.


	46. Chapter 46

Surrounded by a sandstorm on Titan, Fitz prepares to face off, with Carnage Cosmic. He's Silver Surfer, with the Carnage symbiote in him.

In the sky, Fitz can see the bulk of the planet Saturn. Satellite photos never tell him how beautiful it is, from Titan's surface...

From above, a loud noise approaches. Carnage Cosmic looks up...and retreats away, a bit...

Fitz turns around, and has his breath taken by a humongous arrival. It's Galactus, Devourer of Worlds. With luck, he won't devour Titan while Fitz is still on it.

Crap; Fitz keeps forgetting he's not really on Titan.

Carnage Cosmic seems deterred. He flies away, into space, leaving Fitz and Galactus behind.

All around, the illusion of Titan rolls back; including Galactus. This time, Fitz is in a petting zoo in some small Illinois town. There are goats, and sheep, and rabbits, and a pony, and...

There's an aquarium, with a huge blue catfish inside. In the background, Guthrie Kennard's "Catfish Fishin" plays. Fitz scoffs. He imagines Cyrus is feeling right at home, by now...

Fitz wastes no time. He sighs, and aims his rifle at the catfish tank...

A mermaid, who bears Halle Berry's likeness, swims up to the glass, and intervenes. She treads water, between Fitz's rifle and the catfish.

"Please, don't shoot him," she begs. "He's... He's loaded!"

"Oh yeah?" Fitz reloads the rifle. "With what? Chicago-style pizza?"

"No, bombs! Bombs, he'll go off! Please, point that thing away."

"You sure are protective of him. And seriously, I never made you out for the type who'd impersonate Halle Berry's character in Gothika…"

Two other mermaids appear. They look like Michelle Williams and Kelly Rowland. "Halle Berry" shapeshifts into Beyoncé Knowles. They press against the glass, and beg Fitz not to shoot the catfish.

"Please don't hurt him," they beg. "He's already blue!"

"Yeah, yeah, he's ALWAYS blue. Seriously, don't you ladies have a club to go jumping in?"

They implore him not to shoot the fish. Meanwhile, in the background, the fish keeps swimming, as if unaware of the argument that happens near him...

"You ladies don't sound right," Fitz tells him. "Would you mind begging to me in three-part harmony...like the REAL Destiny's Child would?"

All three ladies hesitate, and look at Fitz, confused...

Here, Fitz takes his shot. The glass shatters, the three mermaids vanish, and Fitz's lower half is soon drenched in a flood, that pours out of that tank.

All around, the illusion rolls away; ALL of it, this time. Fitz looks around. He's back in the Oval Office! Aside from a mess, it looks just the way it did...

All around him, his old shipmates and fellow POWs revert to their usual identities. They too, are wet from the aquarium water.

In the background, the Civil Wars' "Long Time Comin" plays. Outside, a wave passes over Lincoln City, and all of the gay Nazi décor reverts back to its normal, relatively egalitarian, and occasionally NAU-themed, self.

The Marvel/DC characters who guarded the High Pink Castle revert back to their elephantine identities. The High Pink Castle reverts back to the Grey House.

In a corner, Frank's corpse lies. It's headless. Shit; so Cyrus really DID kill him... Oh well; he was getting old enough to do it, anyhow...

The scarf, on the Lincoln Memorial, vanishes. The statue of Jonathan reverts back to a church.

The Whiterobes revert back to their real straight male/lesbian identities. Most of them recover perfectly, without any injuries. Others aren't so lucky.

Most of Fitz's and the other's alternate identities vanish; dead and alive. The various Marvel/DC characters don't vanish; if they were on Cyrus's side, they revert back to their alternate gay male/straight female identities.

Pink Flash looks around, and laments, as he helplessly and hopelessly reverts back to Billy Chambers. His pink uniform becomes an orange one.

Before him, he watches, as his buddy, Reverse-Flash, reverts to Amanda Tanner. Chambers gapes.

"Wait... I thought I raped you! Didn't I kill you, too?"

Blood gushes from Ms. Tanner's mouth. A swarm of maggots gush from her chest. She falls over, and dies...again.

"NO," Chambers shouts.

The cops arrive, and arrest Chambers...again.

"Billy Chambers, you're under arrest for the grave-robbing, illegal resurrection, and second murder of Amanda Tanner. You've the right to remain silent..."

"Wait, no! You can't do this to me! This is the NAU! I already killed her, this is double jeopardy! I WANT A LAWYER!"

They shove him into the back of a cop car, and lock him in. They haul his ass off...to a police station whose staff is sexually egalitarian.

Back at the Grey House, Fitz watches, as all three elephantfish slide out of the tank, with the last of the tank's water, and start flipping and flopping all over the Grey House floor. Cyrus lands at Fitz's feet.

Fitz smiles, and looks down upon him. "NOT killifishes, eh?"

As the flash flood dies, the elephantfish flop less and less. It looks like they're going to die.

All around, Fitz's shipmates/fellow POWs cheer. "We did it," they shout, rejoicing. "We killed da ewefantfish!"

They shout, jump up and down, and cheer. They slap Fitz on the back.

Farshad teleports in, and pats Fitz on the back. "Good show," he compliments.

Fitz nods, and looks Farshad up and down. "I think I still like you better as Tilda Swinton's Ancient One."

Farshad shrugs. "A man's gotta be himself, doesn't he?"

"Excuse me?"

Everyone stops cheering, and looks around. A little lost Afroasian amazon wanders into their midst, wearing a bath towel.

"I'm sorry to barge in," she says, "but...I was in hiding here, during the fake assassination operation, and my unit just left me here. Can anyone tell me where they might've gone?"

A dumbfounded silence falls over the crowd. Some of them are a bit more preoccupied with the amazon's hooters, playing peek-a-boo beneath that towel...

On the floor, the three elephantfish summon water to themselves. They trap themselves in cocoons of water, and rise from near-death. They've all got revenge in their eyes.

Fitz stands back, and watches them rise. He KNEW this felt too good to be true...

"Farshad," Fitz shouts, "get everyone out! This is between me and my chiefs of staff!"

In a flash, Farshad heeds Fitz's request. He gets all of the survivors...including the lost amazon...out.

THIS ISN'T OVER, Novak insists, telepathic again. WE WANT THIS HOUSE TO OURSELVES.

"Too bad," Fitz insists. "It isn't yours to have. It belongs to the people of the NAU...and the man they choose to have live in it."

IT'S NOTHING PERSONAL, OLD MATE. IT'S JUST THAT...WE cannot RETURN TO LAKE TANGANYIKA...AS MUCH AS WE PROBABLY DESERVE TO BE DEPORTED BACK THERE.

With that, the elephantfish rip everything they can from the Grey House, telekinetically, and aim it, like spears, at the President. They prepare to give him one last volley...one that will hopefully assassinate him...as much as they'd hate to assassinate their old boss...

They smash the glass from a framed photo of Mellie, and aim the shards at Fitz. They do the same thing with the shards of glass from a framed photo of Ulysses Grant.

The debris awaits the elephantfish's command. Fitz has got nowhere to go...but to his premature grave...both as president, and as himself.


	47. Chapter 47

The elephantfish have got Fitz cornered. They point shards and hard points at him, telekinetically.

Instinctively, Fitz grabs an NAU flag, in an umbrella stand nearby. He uses it as a bo staff, and bravely deflects all of the three elephantfish's blows. The flag gets torn considerably... But then, the NAU loses more flags this way, doesn't it?

The trio runs out of ammo. So, they generate electricity, and electrify the flagpole. Fitz's hands burn. He yells, drops the pole, and flees into the master bathroom.

Inside, the three elephantfish telekinetically turn on the lights, and the water faucet in the bathtub. They plan to retire here, after they've killed Fitz; the fish tank is temporarily out of commission, after all...

Frantic, Fitz searches the bathroom for a last line of defense. He knows it's in here somewhere...

The trio swarms in, and forces Fitz to stand. They levitate a bath rag onto his face, and threaten to suffocate him with it.

IT'S OVER, PRESIDENT GRANT II, they say, telepathically. TODAY, WE HEREBY END YOUR DYNASTY, AND TAKE THE GREY HOUSE FOR OURSELVES. AND WHEN WE'RE DONE HERE, WE'RE GOING AFTER YOUR WIFE. AND WE'RE GOING TO SNARF YOUR LITTLE BLACK WHORE DOWN, AS IF SHE WERE A TASTY LITTLE CICHLID, FROM OUR PRECIOUS MOTHER LAKE TANGANYIKA.

All around, they close in on Fitz, ready to end him, with the gagging of the rags. They've even got tampons, poised to block both nostrils, as soon as they're ready.

Fitz's eyes narrow. From out of nowhere, he pulls up a hair dryer, and blows it in Cyrus's face.

Around Cyrus, much of his water vanishes. His breath grows short, and his telekinetic thoughts are more disconnected.

"NOBODY LAYS A CANE SWITCH TO MY LIV'S BACK BUT ME, YOU PERVERTED ELEPHANTINE RAPIST!"

Novak narrows his eyes, and charges Fitz. Fitz pulls up another hair dryer, and starts torturing Novak with it, too.

"This is for all officials, who you've raped and tortured," Fitz sneers, "in my mistaking absence!"

Ambruso hovers behind the two other elephantfish getting tortured, eyes gaping. He doesn't know what to do...

AMBRUSO, Novak pleads, with his shortened dying breaths, DO SOMETHING!

Alas, Ambruso releases his water cocoon, and falls to the floor, to die.

"FARSHAD," Fitz shouts, "IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, SAVE AMBRUSO!"

Above Ambruso, a portal opens. He's sucked into it, and vanishes.

Novak can't handle much more. At last, he falls to the floor, dead. Fitz smiles, and holsters that hair dryer.

Cyrus holds out for much longer, of course. He even takes up a razor, turns it on, and tries to cut Fitz's throat with it. Alas, he's weakening. The razor can't approach fast, or stealthily, enough...

With a simple flick of his finger, Fitz grins, and flicks the razor across the bathroom. Near, the bathtub is nearly full...

THIS ISN'T OVER, Cyrus's more and more disconnected thoughts still convey. WE WILL WIN...

"Fish like you are always destined to be reborn, Cyrus," Fitz reminds him. "But as a specimen, you will perish." Fitz rips a towel rod from its two mounts, and runs it through Cyrus's chest, like a tube-shaped sword. "I'll pay my surviving staff to make sure of that!"

With that, Fitz throws the impaled Cyrus into the air. Cyrus lands on his back, and looks up at the ceiling.

Over the ceiling, an old movie poster, for _Mission: Impossible III_, portrays a close-up of Keri Russell's bust. She's wearing a torc. Its pendant is actually a weapon known as the Rabbit's Foot...for those who don't know their _Mission: Impossible_ trivia.

Down here, on the floor of the Grey House master bathroom, with gaping elephantfish eyes, Cyrus thinks his last thought. HOW ON EARTH, Cyrus thinks, telepathically, DID SHE CATCH THE VILLANOUS EYE OF PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN, WITH SUCH A FLAT CHEST?!

Fitz wastes no time. He shouts, grabs Cyrus by his tail, and flings him into the bathtub. He goes in with a splash.

He takes up a hair dryer, and turns it on full blast. He then hurls it, as high as he can, into the air.

Beneath the surface, upside down, Cyrus looks up. He watches, as the hair dryer reaches the peak of its hang time, and begins its descent, towards the surface of the bathtub water.

Cyrus gapes, and internally screams.

The ensuing explosion generates many sparks, and blackens many things in the master bathroom. The door is blown right out of the doorway, and lets loose smoke and sparks, from behind it, as it does so.

The bathroom door dances all the way to the foot of the master bed, bumps off it at its base, and falls over. It creates a bridge, more or less, from the foot of the bed to the bathroom entrance.

Inside the bathroom, it's dark. There's still smoke. Here and there, more sparks spray.

Cyrus's severed head flies right out of the bathroom doorway, bounces off the foot of the bed, and rolls to a stop, next to the fallen bathroom door. Never again, will its trunked self command such a villainous chief of staff, who takes more than a cheap gold watch to relieve of duty.

With that done, Fitz and Farshad crawl out from under the bed. Farshad teleports, and meets Fitz on his side of it. Once again, they shake hands.

Farshad pants, and looks down upon Cyrus's head. Fitz opens a drawer, in his bedside table, pulls out a semiautomatic pistol, and loads it with a single bullet. "Can't be too careful," he says, acknowledging Farshad's worried expression.

"Ah," Farshad wipes his brow. "Glad THAT'S over. It...IS over, isn't it?"

Fitz shrugs. "Only one way to find out. I'm just glad my Liv is safe."

Farshad studies him. "You know that for a fact?"

"Oh yeah. I wouldn't have risked coming this far, otherwise. I sent Ophir and her sisterhood to save her, Mellie, and the half-Vietnamese bastard, as we were fighting Cyrus's guards in the light of day."

Farshad scoffs. "PINK light of day. I never thought I'd say this, but it turns out a gay pink sky does NOT look good over the NAU's capital. I know you're a Melting Pot, but..."

"We didn't start out tolerating LGBT folk, just so you know."

"Of course. I know bits and pieces of your country's origin story. I just thought..."

"There was confusion about it, well into the 1960s. The courts have done everything they can to make the NAU an even more tolerating Melting Pot, but... Some societies, it seems, just aren't meant to be division-free."

"I can understand that. I just don't always understand it when villains like your chief of staff, there, use division as an excuse to steal an official's house."

"I won't always be mine. In fact, the law forbids that it never is. But you know, there was one, when the Founding Fathers were meeting, when Alexander Hamilton suggested that this country be an elected monarchy."

"Really?!"

"Yeah, he said something about how a president who gets elected, and serves for life, might just turn out to be less corrupt than either a king who serves for life and then leaves the throne to, most likely, his less-than-competent son, or even a president who serves for a few years, and then..."

Dramatically, Cyrus cuts this monologue short, by coming back to life, lunging and Fitz, and making one last effort to kill him. Without looking, Fitz aims his pistol at Cyrus's leaping head, and pulls the trigger, blowing Cyrus's brains out, and severing his trunk.

"Wow," Farshad gapes. "Just like _Scream_."

"Yeah." Fitz nods, and blows the smoke from his pistol's muzzle. "JUST like _Scream_..."


	48. Chapter 48

Lincoln City struggles to rebuild itself. Thankfully, very few residents of this city have memories of who they were, or what happened, while trapped in the three elephantfish's cast pro-gay Nazi illusion.

Soon, the carcasses of Novak and Cyrus are salvaged from the aftermath of the Battle of the Grey House. Their exteriors were pretty blackened, by the electrical explosion, and the hair dryers. But even in the dawn of death, the tissue of the Beene's elephantfish retains regenerative properties for up to three days. Hence, there should be plenty of edible tilapia-enhanced meat on their bones...

So, Fitz hosts a cookout. He grills Novak and Cyrus, seasons them, and squeezes lemon all over them.

On the pack patio of the Grey House, Zane Williams and his band perform. Williams performs one of his best songs, "Back Porch Band."

At a long table, many officials sit. Some of them were forced to rape each other, in this very house, by the elephantfish. Others were tortured, in this very house, for the elephantfish's pleasure.

Fitz dances to the music, while serving the officials their wine and fish. The Vice President tries it...and seems to like it. The Chief Justice and State Secretary seem to like theirs, too...

Loving the music, and celebrating his victory over his three mutinous chiefs of staff, Fitz dances around the back garden. He willingly rolls a wheelbarrow full of cantaloupe up to the fence.

Here, many elephant trucks extend themselves over the wood. Fitz keeps dancing, while bowling a cantaloupe into each of their trunks' coils.

He leaves a box of scarab beetles on the back patio, and opens it. As the beetles swarm out, every elephant shrew in the Grey House attacks them, in swarms, and guzzles those beetles as if they were game on a hunt.

The House minority leader watches Fitz dance, and giggles. Even so, she seems to be enjoying her lemon-seasoned fish...whatever this is...

Fitz dances up to them, and dances in place behind the Vice President's chair. Still dancing, he makes an announcement.

"Those are my chiefs of staff you're eating, BTW." With that, he dances away.

At the table, the officials stop eating, and cast strange looks between each other. Some of them still have food in their mouths, that they've stopped chewing...

"They're the ones who tortured you," Fitz adds, right before going back to dancing.

The officials shrug, and keep eating...

Such a shame Ambruso can't be here to see this. Even so, Ambruso is definitely in better hands than before. In fact, Fitz is paying very well, to make sure he stays there...as much as he deserves to be rewarded for surrendering.

Elsewhere in Lincoln City, the HQ of the Heffalump National Committee stands. Business here is usually slow...but at least its chairwoman can now take pleasure in a brand new acquisition.

In her office, she keeps an aquarium. Ambruso, the defeated mutineer, swims around in circles, inside. He snarfs down ever cichlid that's fed to him. They're few and far between. He's almost convinced that Ms. North has no tilapias.

"Don't be so depressed, Ambruso," Ms. North tells him, while working. "We'll find you a mate soon. Just not as soon as you'd prefer."

ANYTHING BUT BACK TO LAKE TANGANYIKA, Ambruso begs, telepathically.

"You might be swayed by the fact that President Grant II is currently hosting a fish fry at his house. Your two former co-mutineers are the main course, if I'm not mistaken."

Best he can, Ambruso uses one of his pectoral fins to tap his head and chest. LAKE GODS GRANT THEM PEACE...

"There tends to be a lot of rioting here, whenever this HQ is in session," she tells him. "As my own chief of staff, I'm going to need you to subdue those riots, best you can, until I can find you a partner."

Ambruso telepathically sighs. I'LL DO MY BEST.

"And don't kill them. If you kill so much as one person who comes in here, whether they be right-wing political, or one of our many enemies, I will gladly hand you back over to President Grant II for judgment. I'm sure that after this fish fry, he'd be more than happy to host another...starring you as the main course."

I UNDERSTAND. IF ANYONE BLEEDS IN THIS BUILDING, I PROMISE IT WON'T BE BECAUSE OF ME.

Ms. North smiles. "Ah, Ambruso, you're such a whore. But then," she flaps her hair, "that's what makes you so submissive, isn't it?"

I'M GAY, MADAME.

"Even so... I can't help but find your kind fascinating."

MY SPECIES...OR MY SEXUALITY?

She shrugs. "Pick one, and go with it." With that, she goes back to working. Ambruso telepathically sighs, and goes back to swimming in cyclones around the tank...


	49. Chapter 49

Chelsea Handler has started a new talk show, after the one she had on Netflix crashed and burned. Crying shame; I really liked that show.

"And now," Ms. Handler announces to her live studio audience, "I bring to you a very rare delicacy, straight from federal prison. She's the much-revered and much-accursed would-be assassin of President Grant II. Ladies and gents, give it up for one of Iran's finest: Tuba Mirahm!

The audience applauses. In the background, a contemporary rendition of the "Tuba Mirum" solo from Mozart's Requiem plays...

Ms. Mirahm proceeds onto the stage, dressed in a slutty orange dress. The prison did offer her to wear a different color on stage...alas, it seems that Mirahm is adjusting a lot better to prison life than a lot of her captors wish she would...

She shakes Ms. Handler's hand, and sits. Soon, the applause dies.

"So Tuba, you're in prison now. Do you want to tell us what that's like."

"Well," Tuba smiles, "they sent me to a women's institution, of course. I wish they hadn't. I MUCH prefer male captors, but... Somehow, the guards keep acting like they know that."

The audience laughs.

"Yeah, I can see that. So, how long is your sentence? Tell me; has your sentence been extended, in any way, because of the partisanship or the gender of the president you tried to assassinate?"

She sighs. "Sadly, this country doesn't do that. I would love it, though, if they did. I would've gone gaga, if only President Grant II punished me himself."

"Well if it's any consolation, I hate him to?"

Most of the audience cheers, at this.

"I helped my husband keep him captive in the war," Tuba adds. "I still have no idea how he never found out, but at night, I'd drag Ens. Grant into a shower chamber, where I'd chain him up, and water-board him. He was in the buff, each time I did it."

At this, the audience seems amused.

"Well, I would ask if you ever killed him, but then," Ms. Handler fumbles with some of her own hair, in her hand, "I'd be more worthy of these blonde locks than I want to be!"

At that, the audience laughs.

"Grant was actually a very submissive captive," Tuba continues. "I always had thoughts of fucking him. And deep down inside, I'm sure he felt the same way about me."

"Tell me," Ms. Handler flaps her hair, "did he ever harden, when you waterboarded him?"

Tuba smirks, glances at the cameras, and flaps her raven hair. "I will neither confirm nor deny the President's penis's biases, navy-era or otherwise."

The audience laughs; some of them groan, in chagrin.

On a TV back in Iran, Dr. Ghurani watches the show. He smiles, shakes his head, and keeps folding Persian rugs. As long as he was once married to Tuba, he STILL can't believe that she'd voluntarily go down for having assassinated a president, who was a POW who she'd fuck behind his back, in the war. As magical as he is, he supposes that he'll just never understand women as well as he'd like.

But of course, femininity is just a TRAIT. Half of the things women do have more to do with themselves, after all...

"Still beats me," he mutters to himself. "I still swear that after all these years, I would've at least DETECTED such an urge..."

The phone rings. Dr. Ghurani freezes, straightens out what he's wearing, checks his own breath, and answers it. "Hello," he asks, flirtily.

"So Tuba," Ms. Handler asks, on the show, "as a courtesy to my legacy on Netflix, I need you to answer me something: do you believe that women who own fancy cars have small vaginas?"

The audience laughs; Netflix veterans laugh louder.

Tuba shrugs. "Well, I suppose they do. I have a gaping vagina, and I don't even own a car, so I suppose the answer is yes."


	50. Chapter 50

This is a beach, in China. Offshore, the South China Sea expands for many, many square clicks.

Mellie and Aaron are on a beach towel. She's in a black one-piece. He's in a speedo. Mellie smiles, and marvels at how much stronger he looks, in it.

"My real name is Arun," he tells Mellie. "I just spell it differently, because my father is so ashamed of my Austroasian heritage."

Mellie moans happily. "Can't imagine why." She drags her finger across his emaciated belly. "Bill O'Reilly made no mistake, at all, when he generated you."

"Most people don't think that."

"I do." She kisses his midriff. "And I always will."

She lies down, and stares up at the sky. In moments like these, she misses the Grey House.

"I miss my poster of Ethan Hunt," she admits. "And my poster of Capt. Metsker, hero of the Battle of Ia Drang..." She looks over and Arun, and smiles. "But of course, not as much as I'd miss you, if I could have either of those men."

"I like it when you make me jealous," Arun admits. "Just...try not to make it a habit, when you're around me."

Mellie smiles. "Scot's honor. Hey, you wanna play your harmonica? I always like hearing you play."

Arun shrugs, and pulls out his French harp. Behind them, inshore, the sun sets.

Arun plays. As he does, Mellie sings. Together, they imitate a VERY memorable closing of a _China Beach_ episode...

All around, inland, the PLA transports its forces from base to base. With more people, the military's services are in bigger demand...by the government, if not by the people themselves.

Rumor has it that there's a city in southeast China that's surpassed both Tokyo and Mexico City as the world's largest city... But then, the same people probably say that the full-size SUV's going to replace the minivan by next decade...

As the sun sets, Arun keeps blowing. Mellie keeps singing hollowed-out soprano...like in the China Beach episode. Mellie didn't even know she could sing...until now. But then, her gonads are giving her a very capital motivation, aren't they?

For once, Mellie isn't missing the Grey House. For once, she isn't wishing she was back, begging Fitz to dump Liv and commit to her more...if she even wants Fitz to love her...


	51. Chapter 51

With its president back in her mansion, life in Afroasia returns to normal. Arab, Berber, and Somali factions go back to fighting each other, and expecting the Jewish president to condemn both of them, for thinking that violence is ever the answer. But as long as they don't attack Hebrews or Jews, Ophir can't really become a drama queen about it.

She would prefer never to become a drama queen at all. But then, when you're president, and the people expect you to weep, what are your better options?

This is Oromia, the capital region of Afroasia. The Oromo people live high on the warthog, in the Abyssinian Highlands...higher than even the Arabs, perhaps... But then, they tend to get more rain than Arabia, or even the rest of Afroasia, except Malta. They're not even in the big leagues of the oil trade. The biomass race, maybe; but not the oil trade.

This is the presidential mansion. It's in the Highlands. Here and there, an Abyssinian wolf howls. As much as Ophir adores those creatures, she must stay true to her religion, and give the dog, the fox, the honey badger, and the striped polecat a wide berth.

Sadly, that IS the limit to how diverse the caniforms get, in Africa. But then, it's no wonder why they're considered degenerate in Muslim and Jewish culture, in contrast to the feliforms...as nasty as some hyenas can be.

Nearby, some walia ibex graze on the mountainsides. They're always welcome on the president's land. They have to be. They're endangered.

Tonight, Ophir lies topless, on her master bed. It's a bit big for her...but then, it'd be smaller, if she were married.

Still as tiny as ever, Elias rests on her nipple. It's the one that's over her heart. Up here, her heartbeat makes tremors. And the view from up here is SO much better than even Ras Dashen, the highest point in the Abyssinian Highlands.

On either side of her ass, Ophir squeezes the bedding, with her hands. She's de-polished them, since coming to bed. Elias understands. He'd love his domina if she never painted her nails at all. And that, he understands even more. He's a guy; he's never done that for himself.

But of course, his domina is a president. He understands why sometimes she has to do that...as much as some of the Muslim conservatives often wish she wouldn't...or otherwise wear extra-long sleeves over them...

Ophir smiles, lifts her index finger, and bops Elias on his ass, from behind. She giggles, as he reacts.

"So," she moans happily, "was I everything you expected, when I was with Grant II?"

He sighs. "I enjoyed every second of it. I only wish it could've lasted longer."

"Of course." She bops his ass again. "But of course, with sexual desire, there's never such thing as 'enough."

"Nein. But of course, at some point, we had to come clean with him. We could've done so in worse circumstances, but..."

"We always SAY we can come clean in better circumstances." She bops his ass again. "But of all of the forces of humanity, sex is the most impossible to control. That's probably why the Muslim conservatives hate it so much."

"They're hypocrites, of course. I believe it was the passions of such men," he yelps, when his domina bops his ass with her huge finger, "who created the onion domes and horseshoe arches of medieval Arabian architecture."

She yawns. "Perhaps. Anyway, I'm sure it'll be a while, before I can take you through that again. Grant II's successor might not have a crush on me."

"I won't push you to. Even so, I have faith that there'll always be another man, a much stronger and powerful man, who I can watch you hit on, as you've hit on Grant II of the NAU."

"Your faith is shared," she bops him again, "by your domina...albeit with less passion."

"I understand. It was my request, after all."

"You know, when it comes to whores, you're not all that hideous." She bops him again. "I know you're German, but... A lot of my fans are worried that I'm still single, and if they could see you live with me, then..."

"I like what we have, domina. I'm not ready to matter...and I doubt I ever will be."

She smiles. "I accept your stance." With her huge fingers, she pinches his ass, lifts him, levitates him over to the canyon between her boobs, and releases him. He lands at the bottom...with his head wedged between his own thighs.

Ophir giggles. "Good night, my slave." She claps her hands, and turns off the lights. She turns over on her side, and sandwiches her whore between her boobs.

In here, in the dark and warmth, Elias slumbers happily. He hardens, as he drifts off to sleep in the best bed in Afroasia...one that he couldn't possibly bargain for, he doesn't doubt, back in North Rhine-Westphalia...


	52. Chapter 52

The years pass, in Lincoln City. Nowadays, you can't even tell there was a great battle here. Almost everyone has just about forgotten all about it, too.

Fitz is up for reelection. Tonight, all of the states in the NAU will vote. With luck, Fitz has already won Tornado Alley and the Deep South...his staples, as a right-wing political candidate.

He'll never win California. And that's a crying shame; it's his home, after all.

In the Oval Office, Fitz wraps up the evening's work. He's signed a few bills, and has vetoed many others.

In a fish tank, his new chief of staff swims in circles. She's a Whelan's carp; most of her scales are bright red. Her name is Abby. Unlike the Beene's elephantfish, she DOESN'T need a pack to help her do her job...or a gay lover.

With her psionic powers, she's diverted a lot of unwelcome visitors away from the Grey House doors. Bless her soul, she's diverted most of them before they've made it halfway across the Grey House front lawn...and hence, over the boundary between the city right-of-way and legal Grey House property.

Fitz will miss having a causeway around the Grey House. Even so, he WON'T miss the gay Nazi décor...as much as he still respects his better memories with Cyrus.

THE HOUR DRAWS LATE, MR. PRESIDENT, she interrupts him. THE LATEST RACE FOR YOUR HOME IS ON.

Fitz nods, wrapping up. "So I'm all too aware." He stands, and starts shutting things down, for the night. "Clean up for me tonight, won't you?"

TONIGHT, FOR YOU, MY PRESIDENTIAL BOSS, I WOULD CLEAN THE WHOLE GREY HOUSE, FROM BOTTOM TO TOP...EVEN IF IT MEANT MISSING THE DECISIVE VOTE OF THE ELECTION.

"Don't bother. I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose."

Abby swims away, and keeps swimming in circles, around her tank... Telekinetically, she cleans her boss's office, in his nocturnal absence.

In his boxers, Fitz sits on the foot of his bed, and turns the TV on. He keeps the TV on mute, while watching the map of the NAU, color-coded based on which states who's won.

He yawns, and empties the contents of a small African spice jar on his thigh. Liv, still as tiny as ever, topples out, clad in revealing white lingerie, and lands among the forest of hair on his thigh. Liv loves Fitz, for retaining his hairiness well into his current age. Even so, twenty years ago, if someone told her that she'd be a black whore stranded in the forest of a white president's thigh hair, she would've thought they were stoned.

She wanders to his knee, leans against one of his hairs, and watches the red on the TV's map expand. She's seen better...but she seems pleased, more or less, with how her presidential pimp's luck is holding out.

"I'm sorry I can't fix your crises anymore," she says.

He scoffs. "As hard as you used to work for me, I'd say you deserve some time off. Besides, before your reduction, I often felt like I never did enough to sate my voters' demands."

"You never will. I've never been president, but I've dreamed of it my whole life."

"I haven't. But then...I already know that you know that. I shouldn't even be a president. I'm from the reddest part of a blue state."

"I don't care if you are." She smiles, and rubs against the knee hair she leans on. "You'll always be the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow that I should never have found, but did anyway. I'd love you if you were black...but I'm glad you're white."

"I'd love you if you were white," Fitz reciprocates. "But I am SO glad you're black. And small. And bitchy..."

Liv grins, and hammers against his hair, playfully. "Stop it."

Much time has passed. The map on TV hasn't changed much.

"Are you sure your wife won't come back?"

"No. But she's in China with a reporter that she loves, and I hate. I sure HOPE they never come back...or at least, not if she's taking him with her. I've teamed up with Bill O'Reilly, to make sure that neither one of them comes back...not to Lincoln City, at least."

She smiles. "I'm sure he's honored to have a presidential co-conspirator away from work. Most reporters don't. Most reporters are just flies who won't stop buzzing in politicians' ears."

"Bill O'Reilly is that bug. Lucky for him, though, I sort of like the music he makes, when he buzzes."

Time passes. The colors on the TV map are STILL the same...

Deviously, Liv turns around. Fitz is distracted. On her tiptoes, she creeps up the legs of his boxers, and vanishes...

Beneath his boxers, Fitz can feel his cock harden. He smiles, as Liv mountaineers his cock, and gives him a much-longed-for handjob. He rolls over, crawls across his bed, and lies on his side. He relaxes, and lets Liv harden him to sleep.

He moans, cups his hands, and claps them. All of the lights, except the TV, go off.

In Fitz's and Liv's common tired/sexual blindness, the TV keeps broadcasting the election results. They're both asleep, when a headline is printed across the screen, announcing Fitz's victorious reelection...


	53. Disclaimer

No elephantfish were harmed in the inspiration, conception, or writing of this fanfic...Beene's, telepathic, gay, or otherwise.


End file.
